Not a Mancave. A Batcave.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Why?"

"When Johnny introduced us you seemed to back away. It was strange."

"I'm sorry. You just scare the living shit out of me."

She laughed in surprise. We were both at a huge rock show. We were both working the show. Because we were in the same business, the disc jockey I was with for the night introduced us amidst the crowd of goth kids, random white guys in branded t-shirts from every metal band known to man, and aging rockers willing to pay serious cash to see their favorite bands live.

"I scare you? How?"

"You're smoking hot. You have great tattoos. You remind me of my ex-wife. The third one."

"Third? How many do you have?"

"Just the three. I figure that's plenty."

"And I scare you because you like me?"

"Yup. In my time on the planet, it has been firmly established that if I'm seriously attracted to a woman, it will not go well for me."

"That's too bad."

"Tell me about it."

It was a rare moment that reminded me of the still healing scars on my heart. Yes, I just wrote that. Just lately, being single has been kind of a blast.

Everything in my new, kickass apartment is mine. I chose the stuff, I chose where it sits, I chose where to hang the artwork.

I can sit in the evenings, pull the window open, smoke a cigarette, listening to Van Halen and Aerosmith at a solid volume.

I use far less toilet paper than I thought because it's just my ass being wiped.

Nothing in my refrigerator or cupboards came from a dumpster. The third ex-wife adopted a regular task of culling things from the trash including food. Yeah, weird but not as weird as the rest of it.

I have an actual spice rack and a vacuum that my mother got me for my birthday.

It's been a while since I had my own place sans girlfriend or wife. It suits me.

A few nights ago, I went to bed around 10:00pm. I shot up awake at 1:30AM and couldn't go back to sleep. There's no one else in here with me so I got up, grabbed some coffee and wrote for three hours straight, At 4:00am, I crashed until 7:00am, got up, showered, and went to work. A bit like having a vehicle, having a place all to yourself offers a certain freedom.

The adage "Dance like no one's watching... " is now a literal experience. No one here but us monkeys and we can fling our shit if we want.

It reminds me that the times I've most at home with myself have been when I was living solo. Sure, I've always been looking for the great love of my life so those moments were few and far between. I'm trying to absorb this feeling of freedom and solace so I don't decide that I've found another and fuck things up all over again. While there isn't a lot of city in Wichita, I'm right in the middle of the city that's here and the noise of cars and motorcycles driving by seven floors below is like music.

Wichita is small. The benefits are apparent as is the size. I'm a seven-minute drive from my work. I'm a seven-minute drive from my folks' house. I've yet to take advantage of the fact that I'm walking distance from a dozen places worth hanging out but that'll come soon. Right now I'm nesting a bit.

A long-time friend texted me while I was editing the I Like to Watch podcast in my cave. He was expecting his copy of my latest book, which he felt was perfectly timed because the night before his wife asked for a divorce. After six years of marriage she decided she was a lesbian. I immediately called him on my iPad. I don't have to put in AirPods, I can just talk to him in the open air because I'm in my cave.

"Talk openly like there's no one listening..."

My sister bought a great big clock as a housewarming gift and I freaking love it. In Chicago, I had a big clock but it was destroyed in the move to Vegas. She can't really understand the significance of it but it doesn't matter. She wanted me to have one and brought it over. It's spectacular.

I've known a few guys my age who have fashioned a 'mancave.' Somewhere in the basement where they can be alone, away from kids and wife, and just be a dude. This apartment isn't a 'mancave.' It is not an escape. It has no manly reminders of a masculinity traded in for the compromise of domesticity.

This is my Batcave. The Batcave was where Bruce Wayne could be himself with only Alfred to poke in once in a while. It was his place of self.

Yeah. This is my Batcave.