i am an itinerant little blogger these days. i have been for... well, really, since i got back to the area this spring. i spend a lot of time in places that aren't my home. i sleep at my dad's. i go to school. and, basically every weekend night for months now, i've carried a bag with a couple of changes of clothes and decamped to the man's house.
his place is more hospitable than mine, i'd say. two people live there; five people live in mine. he has a master suite; i share a bathroom. but i do have to admit that i sometimes miss being, well, in my bed, be it alone or accompanied. as nice as his bed is, it's just not mine. my room is great. it's dark, which means it's a little easier for this insomniac to fall asleep at night. i have about six thousand blankets at my disposal (something which the man thinks is a) superfluous and b) hilarious). it is set up in every way to be, well, perfect for me.
so imagine my surprise when i was able to sweet-talk my beloved into staying with me last night. it was a low-pressure sale, but it worked. and even though he had to leave this morning at an hour i don't even want to contemplate right now, it was so, so amazing. as much as i love waking up next to him, i love it that much more when we're wrapped up in my comforter, here in my little corner of the world. it makes me feel... like a grown-up, really. the feeling of being a guest has almost worn off when i'm with the man, but it's still not my house. i don't have to feel any other way besides comfortable here. my man, my house, my stuff.
there really is just no place like home sometimes. i'd do well to remember that.
Letter 70: Be Louder
4 weeks ago