I have lost my way home about six-million times. Every time I venture home, I know I have gone astray. All the stop signs of the world cannot stop this from happening. My life revolves around an axis of confusion. Everything I look at becomes an implicated factor in this confusion. I spin it all around with me, on my confusion axis. Sometimes I find ways to leave a few things alone, in tact within their clarity. These rare times comprise my successful formula for getting home, unconfusedly. The way that it works has developed into a perplexity of its own. I have a fifty/fifty chance each and every time. No one knows quite how to stay on track all the time. Things in life work out bizarrely. But when I reach my home, on my own, without pulling everything around me into muddled perplexity, I experience the equivalent sensation of climbing some glorious mountaintop to freedom.