Keep rollin', rollin', rollin'...

So I was thinking about how many times I've moved. There's been a lot of them. First, there was the house in Mesa. I lived there nine years. In Mesa, I was a little kid who kept a pillowcase full of books and pictures next to my bed in case of a fire. We always had a family member or five living with us in our two (eventually expanded to three) bedroom home. Then we were moved to Payson, where we lived in a rental house for a couple months. We didn't see any point in unpacking, so we lived out of boxes the whole time. We moved into the house next door, and half the town turned up to help us, even though no one really knew us. We lived 50 feet in front of a water tower which was constantly being struck by lighting, but we had a beautiful wraparound balcony with a great view. We took off again, to Tucson. We lived in 'The Fishbowl', as I called it, for about two months. It was someone's two bedroom guesthouse, and to be honest, I loved the place. I hated that it was in someone's backyard, but the house was great. My dog developed a penchant for killing doves and dragging them into the house, and my dad developed a penchant for standing outside during dry lightning storms.From there we moved to Oro Valley, to our largest home. It was built from the ground up, and was the scene of many a vicious fight between my high-school aged self and my parents. I got engaged in the living room of that house, and I kissed my fiancee goodbye in the living room of that house when I moved out to California.An apartment in Pleasant Hill, CA was the next stop. Nothing much to say about that. I was unemployed, gained fifteen pounds, and I was cold. I had never dealt with cold weather before, and let me tell you, San Francisco can be like the Arctic even in summer.After the apartment came the house in Martinez. It had a whole fence covered in roses of every shape, color and size. We had to completely redo everything, and the moment we finished it all, it was time to move to my current place. My cousin lived with us for awhile in Martinez, but eventually went back home.I'm wondering now if I will be going back too. Once, on a visit back to Payson, I ran into a friend from a couple years ago. We were out at the park, watching a concert in the middle of the trees, and he asked me what I was doing in town, if I was coming back."No, I'm not coming back," I answered. "I don't think I ever will.""Everyone comes back," he replied. "They always come home."