I love and appreciate my parents, and their kindness in allowing me to live at home so I can go to school. I know that having them pay the majority of my bills, allowing me to build up savings, is generous, especially at my advanced age of twenty-six. I mean, they only had to take care of me 'til eighteen. But I'm not ten years old anymore, and my life can't be contained to a single room.
I need to learn to cook. I mean, I can scramble eggs and assemble and heat anything that comes in can or box, but I don't get to practice this much because my mom cooks for an army. There's always prepared food here; why would I attempt to stir-fry my own chow mein when there is chicken, beef, egg souffle and sliced vegetables waiting to be eaten up? Never mind the chicken's rubbery because it's three days old, the vegetables are wilted, and everything was prepared with onions, which I abhor.
Besides, whenever I make something tasty or bring home leftovers from a restaurant, someone else eats it up. It's very frustrating.
I need a studio. This isn't a want; it's actually a necessity for my major. We've tried to make it work here at home, and it never does. Mom absolutely insists I don't paint on a room with a carpet, which eliminates my bedroom. (Not that there's room for crafting in there anyway.) I can't use the living room, which has the best light and the most room, because that's where company goes, and Mom's got her own projects strewn about. I can't use the kitchen, the second-best room for light, because that's where we eat, and constantly shuffling paints and paintings around doesn't help the creative process! The family room's too dark, and there's no room...and that eliminates all the rooms where work could reasonably be accomplished. I mean, I certainly wouldn't be allowed to use my parents' bedroom (which does have plenty of space!) or my mother's office. So I can't reasonably take on any painting classes until a space is found where I can do my homework.
My brother's a tornado spinning through the house, leaving chaos in his wake. You can always tell when he's been home because he'll leave clothes or papers on the floor and on the table, his radio will be blaring at all hours, and all the lights are on. I mean, I'm messy, but at least my sprawl is fairly contained.
Plus, I just want to be independent. True story: my mom forbids me to drive to Seanie's house by myself, because it's in the hills between San Jose and Morgan Hill and it's too far. Seriously. Out of respect for her I don't do it - and I don't do a lot of other things, like have parties at the house or redecorate - but seriously. I'm twenty-six. When she and Dad were twenty-six, they were both living on their own. Even if I haven't graduated school and found a full-time job like they'd done at my age, I'm still not a child any longer.
But I can't afford to move out on my own, or with Seanie, without dropping out of school or finding a new job, so I'm stuck. I even feel bad complaining, because there are so many greater problems out there. But it's just so very frustrating.