Is it normal to enjoy pooping in various places?

I always enjoy pooping whenever I go places. I love to find toilets and poop, savoring the fact that I am sequestered within a safe location, out of the sight of others as I leave a record made of thick, brown logs behind for any man to find in the future, should he need to do likewise. I have the fondest memories of savoring the bathroom of a childhood friend for whom I house-sat last year, reading the works of Borges during the zenith of a most tumultuous storm, etching into my memory each tile, crevice, and fixture of that sacred, solitary location. I am left with a sense of calm over further recollections, of how the sunlight danced upon the floor-tiles on the restroom in my elementary school class, the Fridays nights and the Valentine's day I spent alone in solitude as a child in my boyhood home's bathroom, gazing out the window as the silver rain splashed upon the screen and gave way to night. How sad am I, to have finished a day's poop. I cannot help it; I am endlessly nostalgic for each extraordinary poop I have taken, and would fondly return to each hour that I ever took them, if I could.