Want To Commit Financial Suicide?

I am sick of me writing about this. Do you ever get sick of yourself? I am sick of me.

But every day I see more propaganda about the American Dream of owning the home.

I see codewords a $15 trillion dollar industry uses to hypnotize its religious adherents to BELIEVE.

Lay down your money, your hard work, your lives and loves and debt, and BELIEVE!

But I will qualify: if someone wants to own a home, own one. There should never be a judgment. I’m the last to judge. I’ve owned two homes. And lost two homes.

If were to write an autobiography called: “My life — 10 Miserable moments” owning a home would be two of them.

I will never write that book, though, because I have too many moments of pleasure. I focus on those.

And how long does it take to paint a house. Or who do I go to? And will they overcharge me if they pave the driveway?

Did I calculate that into my total cost of owning a house?

I like to sit in the garden area of Home Dept. There’s thousands of flowers and plants and it smells like dirt.

To be honest, that’s the closest I will ever get to hiking — sitting in the garden area of Home Depot.

I’m pathetic. And I flush my rent down the toilet. And I don’t have roots. And I refuse to fix my toilets or shovel my driveway or deal with my flooded basement. All I like to do is read.

And one day I’ll move. Maybe next to an ocean. And take a walk on the beach. Last week, a friend told me the sun sets in the West.

Maybe one day I’ll move to California. Five years until my youngest graduates.

I’ll sit on the porch and watch the sun set and have cash in the bank (I hope) while someone is fixing my toilet.

When the sun has 15 minutes yet to live that day, maybe I will feel like I’m falling in love.