Random Ramblings Regarding Residences and Frivolity

I don’t want to go anywhere. Am I weird? All I want to do is go home and lay on my couch. I want to flip channels, watch movies, play with my dogs, sleep and maybe make dinner later. Seriously, I only need about seven instances of major excitement in one year to make me happy. No thrill seeker dwells here.

Have I always been this way, or am I just more content now? I have no clue. Home seems to me, a perfect place to be. Lately, I’ve been daydreaming a lot about my new house. We move in towards the end of November. I can’t imagine my future in my current house anymore, everything that wanders past my mind’s eye takes place in a house I’ve only been in three times. Sometimes, in the morning, I wake up thinking about it too.

So at some point I became a total homebody. I think it happened before I got married too, which is what makes it so weird. Don’t get me wrong, I love going out; in fact, you could just as easily be reading a post about that. It’s just that I only need a very minimal amount of full-on going out to satisfy me. A perfect night out for me goes something like this: a long, laughter-filled dinner with Jason and other friends followed by a movie. The movie doesn’t even have to be very good, because that can occupy several hours of conversation too. Then go for coffee and sit outside while we have embarrassingly pseudo-intellectually philosophical discussions about the unknowable nature of life or some other nonsense. As you’ll notice, there were no night clubs listed there, no table dancing (although, I’ve done my fair share), no drunken debauchery (done my fair share of that too), just good company, and conversation. I’m boring.

Plus, I have a thing about the evening. Anything is better if it takes place in the evening. Don’t you agree? Coffee on the patio is much better without the sun, dancing spontaneously with someone who inspires you is much better by moonlight, and of course, there’s sleeping… ah sleeping.