Tag: bed

34. The confusion between what I want and what I have.

I’m in bed with the cat.

I hasten to add that it’s my bed, although I often feel he thinks otherwise, but that’s cats for you. But the point is that I am trying to actively enjoy a peaceful and relaxing lie-in, just like the cat does, constantly. I’m trying to be more cat.

Lovely breakfast in bed – in spite of a quick trip to the shop to go and get the necessary ingredients. Jobs on the ‘to-do’ list waiting patiently. No one in the flat asking anything of me. More importantly, the dog is at her dad’s.

And that’s where the confusion between what I want and what I have lies. Some days I don’t want to walk the dog. I have no choice if she’s here but the thought of it when its raining, or I’ve slept badly, or I just not in the mood, is such a chore.

But I miss her.

She’s been my constant motivation to get up and do. She lies outside the bedroom door huffing if there’s the slightest suggestion you’re awake but not letting her say hello. She’s the energy you get bounced at you first thing in the morning, the excitement of a walk showing on her face and in her tail. She is the yang to the cat’s yin.

Will I get used to the weekends I don’t have her? Most probably. But it’s another lesson to learn in this new school of life. He and I used to share weekend walks, and usually Sundays were big walks somewhere different. A drive out to Wimbledon or Richmond. A look at the map to try out somewhere we hadn’t been before. Even a quick jaunt to Streatham Common changed the routine. We’d chat and share things that didn’t get discussed at home, all the time throwing sticks and watching her stalk crows or chase squirrels. Walking and talking go together well.

So now I have to get used to some weekends with no walk at all. I remember days when that seemed like a dream. That bliss when the offer of ‘I’ll walk the dog’ was uttered. Now it’s going to be all or nothing. I’ll always know if it’s my turn. No surprise treats.

But this time it’s a whole weekend of chilling like a cat. I’ll work on my purring.

29. No-one else’s toothbrush in the pot.

So the New Year and the new life begins. I have returned home and I find the shadows of things that had been there, but not the things. There are spaces. Gaps on the shelves. Rectangles of dust on the wall around a couple of picture hooks. Things I used to walk around that now I don’t have to.

And most painful of all… no-one else’s toothbrush in the pot.

Nothing unexpected either there or not. Well, maybe a couple, but not really a problem. not worth conversation, let alone an argument. I was not in control of everything that he took and none of it looks unreasonable. It’s just gone, and I’m aware of all the painful absences. Things I didn’t even want are noticeable, and, though I think I’m glad they’re not here, it’s the why that is difficult.

The flat has a different feel, like it’s not sure of itself – or is that just me. Because clearly we both have to find a way to be. How to get used to the different noises, what to do when there’s no one else coming home. How to make it feel like I’m glad to be here, not just sad to be here. I slowly have to turn what was ours into what is mine.

Like with most things, some days its ok and some it is most definitely not. I know I’ll be fine. I know things will get easier. I know all the good stuff that all the people that know me well keep telling me. I don’t have the funds to make all the changes I could in one fell swoop, so everything happens one tentative step at a time. But it hurt to sort the bedroom for just myself for the first time in twenty one years. And the pleasure of making the bed up with my favourite bed linen, and nice candles in the room just wasn’t the luxury it could have been.

I did, however, make sure that on my first night back here, alone in my freshly made bed, I slept right in the middle.