Spoiler Alert: If you never watched the movie Edward Scissorhands starring Johnny Depp, don’t read this blog.
I never forgot the ending to Edward Scissorhands. In the end, he lived alone creating art, carving ice sculptures as he lived alone in a big dilapidated house. When I first saw that, I started crying. Why? Because I knew that might be my future, creating art and living alone. Also, for years, I craved that lifestyle.
For those that don’t know, I lived under my mom’s roof for most of my life. Don’t get it twisted. I didn’t prefer living that way. I just couldn’t afford to live on my own.
I tried the roommate route. Let’s just say my first and only roommate still owes me money…after twenty odd years. Somehow or another, after we left the apartment, he cashed our deposit money check for himself and never returned my half.
My brother experienced bad roommate troubles too. When it came to money, the guy was irresponsible. On some bills, my brother had to cover the dude’s ass. I think he still owes my brother money.
Fuck roommates, I remained under my mom’s roof.
I became somewhat of a blogger stereotype too, the one about bloggers writing in their mom’s basement. Well, most homes in Florida don’t have basements. So, my blogging headquarters was a bedroom turned into a computer room.
I don’t know. Either I made some bad career choices or the economy is just plain shitty. Some of my college-educated friends have roommates too. So, with an education, I probably would have still wound up living under my mom’s roof.
Be careful for what you wish for, you just might get it. For those that don’t know, my mother passed away last month. I am currently still living in her home. So, here I am, living alone like I always wanted to. Still, I wish my mom’s death didn’t make that possible.
It’s strange. I’m used to hearing other voices. The only real human voice I hear now is my own. Also, I’m used to living in a home containing other people. Now, it’s just me and my two dickhead cats. Television or radio doesn’t make up for the presence of a real person. Social media doesn’t either.
Still, I enjoy it. After all these years, my patience for some people has run thin. Too many times I’ve been manipulated into doing things that wasn’t in my best interest. Too many times my kindness has been taken advantage of. Also, I am too tired of people who refuse acknowledging the harm they cause others. Another thing? I’m not dealing with an irresponsible roommate. Finally, I have achieved the lifestyle I wanted.
A part of me doesn’t want romance, either. Oh yea, the women say they don’t want to be serious or whatever. But that’s bullshit! They still want all the fucking attention in the world, as if you two really are a couple. Then, somehow or another, you’re fucked up because you didn’t pursue them or sweep them off their feet like their last asshole significant other did.
Naw, I’m good. I rather be alone and create art.
What kind of art? You see me writing, don’t you? Right now, I still have my Booty Holocaust novella to finish. Plus I promised to write a Wu-tang short story for New English Press.
I guess photography would be my other art. Yet, I photograph more booty pics than I do art pics. Then, again, booty pics could be works of art also.
I don’t know how long this lifestyle will last. I don’t know if I should keep paying the mortgage or stop and move on. My brother and his family might take my place if I move out. Still, I’ll enjoy my Edward Scissorhand Lifestyle as much as I possibly can.