Give the cat a name

While chatting with L this evening, it came out that in my apt there are three places to sleep: the love seat, the twin bed, and a rolled up futon in the living room. He was mildly appalled by this and suggested that perhaps to sustain an adult relationship I might need to have a bed that could comfortably fit two people. And as a "grown ass woman" there were no acceptable excuses.

He does have a point. It's hard to feel comfortable in a room where there doesn't appear to be space for you. From my viewpoint, I always had the sense that this was a transient stop in my life. A visit. And a sense that, if I met someone who inspired in me the desire to buy a bed, I would buy a bed. That would be the sign.

Sort of the Holly Golightly thing: "If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!"

But perhaps L has a point. Maybe Holly and I have it all backwards. Maybe you have to buy the furniture, name the cat, and put down roots. Maybe that process creates a place where you feel safe and calm and protected. Maybe I have to create "a place where me and things go together." through my own efforts. I make a place my home.

You bring in a bed and then there is space for another person to sleep in it beside you. And then you meet them.

I wonder which way it works - do you build a bed and they will come or do you wait to find the right place and then give the cat a name?

I am not sure that I have done enough traveling to say whether I've found the place. And I haven't built the bed.

It probably doesn't matter. There must be as many paths home as there are people who have homes. But I suppose it can't hurt to try.

Perhaps after three years of being here, it's time to buy a bed and give the cat a name.

Time to call it a life whether there's someone to share it with or not.