I adore my husband. He’s my best friend and my favorite person to hang out with. We’re very companionable. We’re also agreeable. While we each enjoy different kinds of activities and our tastes in filmed entertainment are different (except for classic old movies, which we both love), we compromise. One night I’ll watch one of his obscure documentaries with Sandy, and the next he’ll yawn (mostly silently) through The Great British Baking Show or Top Chef with me. To get me to watch a violent, testosterone-fueled action flick with him he’ll throw in a foot rub. To get him to watch a Hallmark movie with me requires a tub of homemade popcorn and possibly a sweet treat.
But I also love my alone time. Mind you, part of what makes it special is that it’s in short supply. When I lived alone, it quickly got old. I’m talking about the times Sandy has to work late or when he’s away on a business trip. When I don’t have to do meal planning. When I get to read in bed past his bedtime. When I don’t have to worry about being seen with my face slathered in a beauty mask. When I can watch sappy TV shows without worrying it’s putting Sandy to sleep or causing him to roll his eyes.
As I write this I’m alone for the next few days, Sandy is in LA on a work trip. Last night, I enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep without Sandy’s snores keeping me awake. I took a shower in our bathroom that wasn’t steamy from Sandy’s shower. I made myself breakfast without having to first pick the tea leaves from Sandy’s tea from the kitchen sink trap. I’m not thinking about what to fix for dinner tonight. I have a day of uninterrupted writing ahead of me (my favorite thing of all). I am mistress of the TV remote control. Best of all, I’m looking at two whole days of alone time.
That said, I know when Sandy gets home I’ll be overjoyed to see him. I’m fully aware that my time alone is precious mainly because it’s not open-ended. Whenever we’re apart from each other for more than a few days, I find myself missing him terribly. We text and talk on the phone so often it’s almost like we’re together. As much as I love having our bed to myself, I love sleeping next to him even more. I don’t miss his snores but I miss his adorable face on the pillow next to mine.
Come home soon, sweetie. Miss you already.
