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Why am I even writing? I have absolutely nothing to say, but I want to chat.

I love being here, in some ways, having a little space, being on my own blah blah blah, but I am actually missing not being alone. I am a people person. I don't need to speak to them, but I do like having them around. In fact, having them around and not speaking to me is my ideal. I have my space, but I am not on my own. Every so often I can make a joke, or share a cup-of-tea-time. Okay, so I have a cat here and I do understand now how having a cat as a companion stops you feeling like you're on your own, but you know what? My opinion of cat-ownership is confirmed - it's like having a child. The cat, while I do feel very fond of him, is high maintenance. He is needy: he follows me around from room to room, he wakes me up to feed him, he wakes me up in the night when he gets scared, he sulks when I leave the house. Honestly, I'd rather have a baby than a cat. Babies don't moult. Babies don't make my nose itch and my eyes swell up. Babies grow up and learn to feed themselves. Babies leave home one day.

I am aware, as I write this, that a number of my close friends have had babies recently and would probably not sympathise at all with my complaints, being, as they are, in that post birth trippy haze of sleep deprivation, but goodness only knows, I feel like a new mother. He wakes me all the time - I've not had proper sleep since I got here. Every time he does something odd, I worry, not knowing what is wrong with him. The worst was last night when he spent the whole night going schizo and tearing around the place chasing balls at random intervals, just as I'd fallen asleep. He'd then charge into the bedroom and stand there looking at me with his big scared eyes, so I'd stroke his little head and make soothing noises. He wakes me by bringing dead bugs into the bedroom, I wake with his claws tangled in my hair, I wake as his feet land on my body in the middle of the night - this is not peaceful sleep.

But then, it's not really the cat. There is something else that is bothering me and I am not sure what it is. I have some freelance work to do, which is great. I seem to be making progress with finding a placement, which is great. I have been catching up with friends and seeing my lovely boyfriend. I'm staying in a lovely flat in a lovely part of London. All this is great. So what's the problem?

I'm not at home. I miss being in a familiar place which feels safe. I want to find a home. The problem is, I've never been settled. I've lived in over 10 houses in the last 10 years in London. When I was a kid, though I lived in the same house all my life, every summer we would all decamp to Croatia, to a random selection of new homes. Even in Chester, we moved rooms from time to time, as children left and moved out, or came home again after uni. Even there, when I was in the same room for years, I would constantly change my furniture around so it felt like a new space.

Was I born to be a nomad, I wonder? I want to settle, yet I can't settle. I wonder what it will take to make me stop still and just be in one place. I wonder when I'll find my home and it occurs to me as a write, that maybe my home isn't a physical location, but a feeling. Maybe my home is a who, and not a what.