Where's the house I need? Where's the Wayne Manor I dreamed of having as a kid, or the Bat Cave? What about my Fortress of Solitude? My Castle of Frankenstein. My Trump Tower. My Xanadu.

Where's my house? The one that will define me as I define it. The one that will shelter me from the storms. The one I will haunt when I'm dead.

Being homeless is difficult for me. Who wants to be the guest that's in the way? Who wants to be guy on the couch snoring when people walk through to the kitchen? Who wants to be the guest that came to dinner and never left?

I should move around more. One couch here and then off to the next town to the next couch, walking down the highway to a sad and lonely piano tune like Bruce Banner/Bill Bixby in TV's "The Incredible Hulk."

Where have my couch surfing plans gone? I used to love to travel and meet new people. Once I even planned to find 365 couches around the world for one night everyday for a year for a film project on travel. I still want to do that. Maybe you can let me stay with you for a day?

http://www.couchsurfing.org/people/jerrylentz/