In December I decided I would evacuate my house, during the current three week period of indoor renovation.
I was going to get a whole house all to myself. That was Plan A.
The problem with this, aside from the costs, was that all holiday cabins were located outside of the city, and I don’t have a car.
Plan B was to get a hotel, downtown.
Where I would feel uplifted by the inner-city buzz and could easily meet with friends. But the downside was that a hotel didn’t offer my own facilities to cook or do laundry.
Plan C would have been to live with my mother, if it wasn’t for the fact that I had discarded that one.
I had just started my new career as a writer, publisher, speaker. And under a new name, LS Harteveld. Living with my mother was simply not an option for two reasons.
The first was that staying over with someone is too close to becoming homeless. As a beginning entrepreneur, I did’t want to think about how much or how little it would take to end up that way. Sleeping over at friends or my mother felt like I had one foot in being homeless.
The second reason sleeping with my mother was not a good idea, was because I needed to get into this role, this new identity of LS Harteveld.
My mother is one of the people who will never see me as LS Harteveld, and that is cool. But I can’t build up LSH and at the same time be confronted with my old, broken identity.
With the woman who is completely drained after being a yoga teacher for 15 years, and who doesn’t want to work another day in her life.
Also sexually, sleeping over at my mother’s would be a disaster.
Although I was of course also sexual under my old name, having my own space, my own identity, my own energy when I go to bed and may or may not masturbate, are all key to my sense of self.
Going to bed every night feeling like a child would be killing for any career.
But for someone who has decided that she wants to feel sexual and fuckable 24/7, it is particularly demotivating.
I ve long considered it strange that on one hand I decided I would internalize my sexuality – and I did. If my lover Mr.Big would stop seeing me, it would not influence how I see myself, nor spark the serial dater in me.
And on the other hand I go through lengths to always have my own space, and to only BE in places that uplift me.
That hold some kind of sexual or inspirational energy.
At first glance it didn’t make sense
Until I realized that OF COURSE it made sense!
The reason I have been able to internalize my sexuality, and become independent of Mr.Big or other men I might fall in love with and would be open to dating, is because I am so terribly picky about where and with whom I spend my time.
My surroundings mirror a successful, sexual, independent woman.
That is why I can keep that vision alive of being LS Harteveld.
If I would live for three weeks without a sewer, a bathroom, heating, or kitchen, and camp in my living room with an electric heater, an electric cooker and a chemical toilet;
I would betray her.
LS Harteveld would never settle for that. It would be impossible to develop myself and crush my new career under those circumstances.
So, that had been my decision making process weeks ago.
And in the end the Universe helped me to get it all done without spending any money. Thanks to two medical diagnosis, I was given the keys a temporary home.
It was all last minute, and this home too, had some renovations planned, during that period. But that wasn’t the worst.
I also had a cut internet cable, which was discovered under the pavement after four days of not having Wifi and countless calls to the provider.
I had a malfunctioning central heating, which combined with radiators being taken down temporarily for the renovations, led to ten days of dysfunctional heaters.
When all those things were finally fixed my happiness was immediately restored.
It was a relief to notice just how much energy and frustration had been directly linked to having workers and mechanics and malfunctioning everything.
But now it was all up, and for the remainder of my time I could live in my new apartment and sleep in a wonderful bed.
I even fantasized what it would be like, if my lover would come over, and play out my new consent fantasy.
It was a video from Twitter (I ve written about this before, but in case you missed that) with a petite brunette being fucked by a buff tattooed guy.
The lighting was poor, it was dark, and it was as if she was raped in her own bed.
Now I ll say it again: I didn’t for one minute believe this was real. It was just nice non-consensual-play porn.
Which made me terribly hot.
And being in this bed I didn’t know, in a house that was foreign to me, was the perfect spot for me to play this out.
I was hoping my lover would be able to make it, before I would go back to my own apartment.
And now that everything was up and running, I could make that happen.
Or so I thought.
Because you know what happened yesterday?
At 7.30 AM there was an asbestos renovation of the toilet, which the building cooperation had forgot to mention. But worse than that:
When I got back at 10 PM, totally wasted after a super-long day behind my desk, trying to get my work done, the toilet was not properly installed. It flooded straight into holes leading to the apartment downstairs.
Good thing I peed only a tiny little bit!
Anyway, I spent an hour making phone calls to the building cooperation, and talking to the downstairs neighbor on what to do, now that his apartment was flooding for the second time that day.
And around midnight I arrived back at my mother’s, who had made me a bed, for which I was so grateful.
I m now going home to see if they have everything installed again.
And if they haven’t I m taking a hotel.
I already know which one; I ve been curious about it for a long time!
Because I’m not spending another night at my mother’s.
I once read this story about two sisters who went on a holiday, and checked into a hotel that was far more basic, than they had anticipated.
One sister didn’t make a fuss about it.
But the other one insisted they’d find a better hotel.
Because this night was just as important as all others.
And it is.
An Unexamined Life is Not Worth Living
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A night as valuable as all others is Chapter 27 of my diary 7-figure Rock Star Writer
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