A friend of mine made an insightful comment at my writing group last night.
"Kalesey," he said, "really cherishes her personal space."
He's not wrong.
The very same subject had come up just hours before with me and Mr. Zips. He'd made a similarly insightful comment when he said he realized that there's only a part of me that wants to be in a relationship. The other part wants to be left alone.
Wierd thing is, I don't know which part of me I like any more.
It used to be that I loved that I loved my own company. I was the crazy writer cat lady (YOU are a CRAZY cat lady) who had weekends where she spoke to not a single human soul. It meant that I could get lost in my own plots and details. And when I went insane - as I was sure to do - no one was there to get hit by the shrapnel.
But now that I have another (wonderful) human being in my life full time, I find that I'm feeling apologetic -- even guilty -- about wanting to be such a loner.
And this morning, when I woke up in his arms and realized I had to say goodbye to him in a few short whiles, I was genuinely sad.
What this means for me or my future, I have no idea. But at 31, it's probably a good thing that I'm still learning about myself.