This is me, at least once a weekend, ever since always. (Minus the jerking off with warpaint or whatever that paragraph is about.) Justin has lived alone so long that when we first started dating, he didn’t understand my wish for alone time at all. As Sartre says, “If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.” When I am home alone, it is the world’s greatest PJ party. Always.
(I know I had that Stephen Fry letter posted in this entry a minute ago, but I reread it and I was like, “You know what? That’s a pretty letter but that’s total bullshit. Unless you have a chemical imbalance, you can trick your brain and nourish your body and feel any way you decide to feel. And even with the imbalance, you have pills and can at least try. So whatever. One philosophy: Only YOU can treat yo self. I can live with that.)
Well, the attic cave isn’t going to work out (it’s too small, not to mention named after a dick), which stinks but now I can show you how cool it looks. (We have another venue we like more, anyway.) Look how pretty!