Consider this an exercise in wanting things.

What would my life be like if I had everything I need?

Well I’d have a job, obviously. A career. Probably my own small company or business of some sort. Something that can be done from the home via Zoom and email and whatnot, but that also gave me a reason to get the heck out there now and then.

Home is a lot homier when you go out now and then for contrast.

Not sure what I would be doing for a living, exactly, but it would definitely involve my creative talents in a big way. So I would be a writer of some sort, maybe for a big time TV show like The Simpsons, or even my very own sitcom or animated series.

Hey, if you’re gonna dream, dream big, right?

I might be producing and/or directing instead or as well. I’m very talented and extremely controlling, so rising to the executive level of entertainment seems inevitable.

How else am I supposed to make sure people actually do things right? *twitch*

And speaking of home, I would be living in a home pretty much like the one I grew up in. Master bedroom, plenty of guest bedrooms, good sized kitchen and dining area, and a lounging area set up for cozy conversations and/or group media viewing.

And probably some stuff we didn’t have when I was a kid, like a rec room for games of all sorts, a sunroom for lovely green living things, a spa and sauna, and probably a modest sized swimming pool in which I would finally learn to swim.

Oh. And the fuck palace. Obviously.

And speaking of fucking, I would of course be sharing this domain with my husband, and possibly a rotating cast of live-in guests.

Like I have said before, I want to collect people. Not in a giant bell jar sense, of course, but in the sense of finding good people whose company I enjoy and giving them a place to stay where they are safe, comfortable, and supported.

Create a sanctuary for my particular breed of weirdo, more or less.

My husband would be someone I can be comfortable with. Someone I can cuddle and converse with for hours and hours and feel perfectly relaxed and safe the whole time. Someone who understands both what I say and how badly I need to say it. Someone whom I can connect with without either of us getting freaked out and running away.

Them being sexy to me and vice versa would be a plus. I would certainly be fucking a lot more in my perfect life. The exact details of that are unknown, whether it would be my keeping a stable of studly sex workers busy, or having a little black book of paramours, or making one man deliriously happy. Or whatever.

Oh, another feature of our home : pets. Critters. Two or three medium sized doggos, at least a half dozen cats, and a small menagerie of more exotic fare.

Nothing I have to keep in a cage, though. Unless I can afford VERY big cages.

Oh, and the whole place would be designed and decorated to be cozy, comfortable, and casually clean and tidy.

My ideal living space would have nothing in it which makes me sad. Only happy, life-affirming, joyful things allowed!

I am, however, realistic about how possible that is.

So I would settle for “nothing in it that actively pisses me off. ”

That’s everything I can think of at the moment.

More after the break.

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More about my dream life

I had another topic, but then I forgot it, so what the hell, let’s keep this ball rolling.

One thing to be clear about in regards to my dream home : I don’t give a crap what other people think of it, apart from wanting my guests to be comfortable.

But I sure as fuck don’t care about snob appeal or whether people think my living arrangements are “tasteful” or not. Or what other rich people think of me.

I will do things exactly as I please, and those who work for me will need to keep that fact firmly in mind so that they don’t invoke my displeasure by trying to tell me how they think I should be doing things.

You can tell me how I might make something more pleasing to myself. But that is literally the only criterion that matters.

And that goes triple for my money. I will spend it as I please. I will never surrender control to the professional grifters who are eager to tell me how MY money is better off in THEIR hands and that the whole thing is way too complicated and boring for me to be bothered with so I should just trust them.

Bullshit I will. Look, assholes, if I don’t understand it, I don’t sign it. And I do not trust anybody like that.

And I am perfectly happy to let my money sleep in all day in a bank account rather than have one of you pinheaded weasels try to “make it work for me”.

Money doesn’t work. People work. Money is just an incentive.

Call me a socialist but that’s what I believe.

Back to my living arrangement. One thing I am uncertain about is exactly how much space I would be taking up.

My homey tendencies lean heavily towards coziness and intimacy. A sprawling mansion with its own area code would not work for me at all, at least on that level.

But when I look at the various facilities I listed in part 1, I realize that they are not all going to fit in the old family home at 135 Belmont Street.

Throw in things I didn’t mention, like space to hold events and other large gatherings, and it all adds up to something fairly mansion like.

Plus, I mean, I have no idea how much space the fuck palace would take up.

So I am forced to admit that the place would have to be pretty big, and my agoraphobia does not like that at all.

I suspect there to be a hard limit to how much space I can consider “home” and anything outside that limit will be hostile territory as far as my phobia is concerned.

So I would have to either cut down on the facilities or make peace with the idea that no matter how big the place gets, odds are I will spend time in only a portion of it.

Neither option makes me happy.

I guess even in the self-indulgent fantasies of oral retentive fat dudes, compromises must be made and you can’t have everything you want.

Which is kinda sad.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.