Next month will mark the fifth anniversary of my move to my current home. I cannot overstate the significance of this move for my life. I was finally escaping a bad homelife, and moving away from a place of degradation and impoverishment. I am extremely grateful, to this day, to the friends who helped me make the move, and helped me set up my new home.
I don't really recall what my plans were for myself once I moved in. I think I had planned to eventually get a cat (which I did), and to start dating again (which I've done, but in a limited fashion—more below). I'd planned to do more in-home entertaining, which I did for about a year-and-a-half, but that's gone by the wayside, and now my apartment is organized almost completely around the needs of myself and Manuel.
I've thoroughly settled in, and despite a massive clean-out last winter, I'm still overburdened with stuff that would be a challenge for me to move. In fact, it would take a miracle or a disaster to get me out of that place now. Even though my rent has increased a little each year, it's still much more reasonable than the alternatives.
As for going out on dates and such, I haven't done nearly as much in the last five years as I had thought I would do. Last year I did see one man very casually, and frankly I enjoy that friendship very much because it is so casual. With him, it seems, my affection for him is tempered by my love for him, in that the affection would have me cling tightly, whereas my love has me cheering, from the sidelines, for his freedom, development and independence. And that's all I'm going to say about this at this time. He's a sweetheart, and deserves everything he can grasp from the world, and then some.
As for the future, well, I'm not getting any younger. But I'm happy in my home with my cat. We'll have to see what miracles/disasters wait around the corner.