Nov. 17th, 2013

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Dave says, going to your place feels like a vacation.

It's only after he's left, when I've spent the evening eating hot dogs with home-canned tomato jam and tending my booze and animals that I realise: living at my place feels like a vacation for me too.

My space is perfectly suited to me. There's nowhere in the world except outside in an interesting ecosystem that I can go and be this much myself, with my skin off and my mind filling the container I'm in, out to the walls. There are few other places I can go and have so many things I love to do available to me, set up for my pleasure at a moment's notice. There's nowhere else in the world I can go and be so undisturbed by the outside world.

So tonight I do an enjoyable activity with myself, and exchange a bit of online chatter with people, and drink and spill tastes of a bunch of my wines &c, and hang out with my bunnies, and snuggle myself into a blanket. It feels like a good date with someone I really trust and who loves doing cool things. I do simultaneously feel an outward-reaching, a desire for company, but this kind of joy in myself can't come in company easily or often.

More and more I think about having a wedding with myself, buying a proper ring, having a ceremony (big & conventional or private, I don't know) and wearing that ring with the knowledge that should I ever form a partnership with anyone else again their ring will, not replace mine, but be beside it. That formal commitment to myself is awfully compelling.

Because even when I fuck up, I'm always here for me. I can always rely on myself to come through in the end.

And that's pretty important.

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