My home is not Waterloo, but it is not Sarnia anymore. I am rootless. A friend of mine said to me that "When you get comfortable, you're fucked", because currently he is fucked. I am not comfortable. I don't know where I am anymore. I have finally become the delicate fuckin' flower I always said I was. When does a person let them self become the person they always joked about being? When does the joke become the reality? If I start to accept all those things I've never accepted, will they become me too? Will I lose all my fight when I start to let humour overpower me? It is hard to have endurance when I don't know where to rest my mind for the rejuvenation of home.