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An incompatibility with family life

Getting truly into winter territory at Les Pierres, a thick layer of snow falling and melting yesterday because someone couldn’t make sense of what to do and chose to scatter both, drove me back to my little cat cave this morning, abandoned for weeks because of the arrival of our antipode Mec, who isn’t allowed in there yet to give the moggies a break, but if I’m not, they seem to lose their interest too, except for a quick bite, shelter is apparently found somewhere else.

The all-encompassing education of the little one in fits and starts, requiring a constant gander that doesn’t leave space for anything else, has made our tiny house unavoidably even smaller, increasing both our claims on every inch of privacy substantially and although I am a strong supporter of passionately defending ones personal assets against the ever advancing common, a time to share has presented itself, if I want to insist that Ivory is the love of my life and thus does not necessarily have to retreat to our unheated bedroom when work calls him, which it daily does.

It’s really not like I’m that teenager again, living in my parents garage because of an incompatibility with family life at the time, seriously blaming my father for wanting to help save my stuff during a flooding, because it was my stuff and thus not to be touched by anyone. The stress caused by this roof leak literally made me run away from home for days, hiding with my sister, who already had a place of her own, deeply offended and angry at my parents and the world in general, for disrespecting me and my boundaries.

The similarities with those youthful peculiar conditions are hilariously striking, my current private domain still sort of in a barn and water pouring in whenever it rains, yet personal taste and style have emerged more pronounced and provide a secure protection.

Ivory’s sweet reluctance to take me up on my offer of sharing won me some time to cover my all too personal tracks, the thorough cleanup that piggybacked with that made me realize this prospect of sharing unexpectedly invokes a renewed interest in what I forgot I accomplished there: a hide-out inside our hide-out, truly enforcing a closer within.

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