I'm stuck in a mind-pit. I'm remembering all the times I spent sitting in my basement. The many lives of my basement.
It started as an extra room for my parents to rent out to scumbag friends of my dad. Then once that was over it was our secret clubhouse away from my mom. Then my dads personal den. Then nothing after he died. Then I turned 13 and I needed a place to be away so I turned it into a clubhouse. Then Tommy moved in. Then Tommy moved out. Then Tommy moved back in.
Then it was the Rave room. Then it was Chucks room. Then it was Tommy's room again. Then his and Jennas. Then just his. Then (and now) bears whatever room.
How can a place in my own house be so not mine? At least I can listen to system of a down and almost touch the memory it becomes so clear.
