I really fucking love my life.
I have a damn good life that I’ve made for myself. Here I am with my own private bathroom connected to a huge bedroom, one window overlooking a field of flowers and tall grass, another looking into the woods, and I have a kickass little stereo system and the ability to afford Spotify premium. I get to listen to Mark Ronson’s “Daffodils” in its full, bass-y existence in my own queen-size bed all to myself with a cup of green tea.
My life is literally everything I hoped it would be right now. Maybe I enjoy some basic shit, but having my own space and the ability to play my music as loud as I like is as close to true love as I’d like to get.
I can smoke a cigar in my room if I wish. Right this second. No one could stop me. And I have done it before on multiple occasions.
Just this morning I wanted to write a blog, and here I am. No obligations, no rush, nowhere to be, yet available to go anywhere. How fan-fucking-tastic is that?
I love the weird little places life is taking me, even the tiniest possibilities amuse me.
I love being single, too. I’m not against getting into a relationship, but there’s something deliciously blissful in the fact that I can go days without shaving anything at all and still wear shorts.
Or dance in my underwear to “Can’t Feel My Face.”
Or blare Amanda Palmer at alarming levels without worry over who might be irritated.
Or take two hours leisurely applying makeup with my playlist of JonTron’s lamenting reviews in the background. Yes, I’ve watched all of his videos at least five times each. And I don’t have to hear any shit about that from anyone.
I can wander over to a friend’s whenever they invite me, I can take off out of town for a weekend without qualm, and I can take myself out to my favorite restaurants for the fuck of it simply because “treat yo’self” fluttered through my mind.
If I so badly want sex, I now know I have finally built up the confidence and ability to obtain it.
I have created a companionship with myself. It’s quite lovely.
But as I read through all of this, I know that being single does not trump being in a relationship. A relationship can be just as good as this lifestyle. Don’t give up what makes you happy or how you enjoy living your life to be with someone, find someone who lives like you do. Or at least someone who doesn’t give a shit what you do while they do their thing. That’s even better. Find someone who respects you, your lifestyles, and appreciates your happiness.
And be that person for them.
I know if I was with someone and they wanted to take off for a weekend out of town alone, I’d say “have a great time” and leave it at that. Hell, I’d probably have my own shit going on to be honest. But most likely, if you work well together, you’ll end up doing a lot of the stupid shit you love together.
Still, if and when until then, I’m rather in love with my current situation.
Just let life happen; it’s got some cool shit in store.