I came back home this weekend. A house is more than just four walls; it’s a refuge where we feel warm, secure and welcome. The house I sit and write this in is littered with memories.

This house came to me in an unusual fashion. Quasi-bequeathed to me, my grandparents bought this home in 1964 immediately after my “paw-paw” retired from the Army. The brought their three children here – the oldest of which was my mother – and lived out their life together.

My mom married my dad in the dining room; my Uncle Sam tried to sneak in drunk late at night. I remember throwing baseball in the yard and listening to Braves games on the radio. I remember spending the night here every chance I got, completely content in the love and affection only grandparents can give.

But there are memories that hurt as well; having to say goodbye to my grandfather as he laid on his deathbed with that rattle in his chest. The kitchen table my grandmother was eating her breakfast at when she has a fatal heart attack greets me every time I go to grab a bite.

Then when a time came in my life that I needed a place; a time when my young wife and I were struggling, this house was our safe haven also.  I started raising my kids here; playing ball in the yard just like my family had done with me. I remember jumping out of bed and rushing to the hospital to see my daughter’s birth. We celebrated birthdays at that same kitchen table.

And as prone to happen in life, the bad times followed the good. I remember sitting in the same room my paw-paw died in and hearing Heather tell me that “she was sorry…but it’s over.” A part of me died in that room also. I remember sitting in the same kitchen chair my grandmother ate her last meal in and crying the day I got out of jail for DUI.

So I ran away. I let those painful, negative memories overpower those positive ones. But this weekend I came back home. Now I sit here writing this, watching my son play on the bed where four generations of my family have lived, loved, laughed and sometimes died and I realize that this place will always be home. I’m so tired of running and feeling lost. Tonight, sitting with my children and soaking in all these memories again…it’s the first time I’ve felt warm, secure, welcome – Home – since the day I left.

Bono tells us of how he has run, crawled and scaled city walls; climbed the highest mountain and run though fields only to realize that he still hasn’t found what it is he’s looking for. It’s a feeling that I think we can all relate to at some point in our lives. I have had a lot of time on my hands lately to do some soul-searching; thanks to U2 I realized that I too haven’t found what I’m looking for.

I am so tired of being unhappy, of fighting the same battles over and over again…with loved ones, my ex-wife, my friends. I get so frustrated with burning bridges and squandering opportunities again and again. Why is it that I am my own worst enemy? Why isn’t my life where I think it should be? I blame my bi-polar disorder and call my friends “enablers,” but I realize that what I am really missing is a sort of inner peace and happiness that only I can find. I have to look deep into myself and seek out what it is I want from this life.

Mr. Bono and I won’t find it atop the peak of a mountain or guarded behind city gates like a lost treasure. I have to look inward and find it. I have to take time to listen to myself and stop drowning out what my heart is trying to tell me. Sometimes the white noise around us can be deafening. In this world of technical marvels – this Age of Immediacy – we all forget to stop and listen; to other people and to ourselves. I do it all the time. But I have to stop and listen now.

My back is against the wall in a way it never has been before. I’m scared to death of the future. The economy is a mess, I’ve been unemployed for what seems ages, I am behind on child support; I’ve given myself ulcers and spend my nights coughing up blood. What for? Why? Am I doing what I need to be doing? Am I in the right city? Am I applying for the right kind of jobs? How do I know?

It’s simple in theory. I listen. I do what my heart tells me. And I write about it, of course. I haven’t heard myself for a long time now. I hope you all listen better than I do. And I hope you too find what it is you’re looking for.

No one ever told me moving to Atlanta would be easy. Of course, packing up a suitcase and just driving off into the sunset towards a new beginning, a new life – it sounded so perfect. It’s almost like something pulled from the pages of a novel. Applying to work in the gay adult entertainment industry? I don’t remember reading that in a novel…but it’s not really my genre. I’ll get back to that.

There's really nothing wity I can post here...the pic really steals my thunder.

As my video blog mentioned the other day, I was turned down for a janitorial job. That was a really low blow to my self confidence and mental well-being. I’m not really sure why in the hell I was even applying for that position. They were correct in assessing me as overqualified for that job – despite the fact I have the greatest mustache ever. I assumed it would make me look more everyday-kind-of-guy. At this point though, a job is a job. I believe I said that job was as far down as I felt I could fall, but I was wrong. (No offense intended, janitors of the World.) I actually applied a few days back to be a stock worker at a place that stores and distributes gay pornography. Yes, you read that correctly. It’s most definitely not my dream job. Hell…I didn’t even realize such jobs existed. But at this point I’ll do ALMOST any and everything. I never heard back from them. Apparently I’m not qualified for that gig either. It’s probably a good thing. That’s a job you don’t want to have to explain to future employers.

All this time off and job searching has made me realize this: the world doesn’t have that much work for unskilled labor. And unfortunately for me, the things I am skilled in – Public Relations, Marketing, playing music loudly, drinking copious amounts, using cheesy pickup lines on women way out of my league, wasting hours on the Net – it’s very beneficial to be a hot chick, have finished college or more than likely both. (No offense intended, hot chicks of the World) I have never watched gay porn, so I guess I don’t have a background in that field. Maybe that’s why they too didn’t offer me a job.

My buddy Ted called and asked if I would come and help him paint all day tomorrow. He has a condo he’s trying to get ready to rent out. I thought this would be a great opportunity for me to make a little side cash – get a little change in my pocket, if you will. But alas, he wants to pay me in alcohol and food. I’m not sure what that story says about me. I like beer, maybe? Check. It is the nectar of the Gods – as good as cash in my book. Besides, it will break up the monotony that is my last few weeks. Painting while drinking and listening to some good ole’ Southern Rock – it’ll be like I’m right back in Alabama. I can’t wait. And it’s got to be better than stocking porn. So I’ve got that going for me.

As always, be safe, be good and be happy. See you on down the road.

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Just when you thought a job search could get no more demoralizing…this happens.