Tag: just me

45. Is that all I miss?

Some days I find I’m nearly through to the other end before I’ve had time to think. I doubt that I’m alone in that feeling. It’s a little like that moment when you’re driving and you come to a point when you don’t entirely remember all the journey, and have to trust your driving even when you can’t recall it.

I’m finding that some of my days can be a bit like that. Not bad days, but filled with the usual things – dog walk; breakfast; go to work; home; eat; bit of crap on telly; bed – that I’m functioning perfectly well. But is that enough?

I have so many advantages – healthy, solvent and housed. I still have good friends, and a good laugh when I see them.

But there is a small voice that’s just started muttering. It’s quite and infrequent. But it can still be heard.

“Is this it?”

I don’t want to hear it. But it’s hard to shut it up without a burst of activity. And I’m tired. There seems to be a constant stream of things to do, and, unsurprisingly, only me to do them.

Is that all I miss? The presence of someone to help out? Fill in the gaps when I’m feeling weary? To let me have the occasional lie in when I don’t want to take the dog out or cook something for when I get home?

But then, watching a bit of hilarity before bedtime with the dog hogging most of the sofa I realise that it’s still better to have things that are missing, with the hope that one day I can find ways of filling them. Better than having those ‘gaps’ being filled by someone who doesn’t want to.

It’s hard being on your own sometimes. But it’s much harder when you’re with someone and you feel like you’re on your own. I must remember that now that things don’t hurt so much anymore. An early morning dog walk is a small price to pay. And she very much wants to help.

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.

 

23. It hasn’t been ‘just me’ for years. 

There’s a calm about the flat. I don’t know why exactly, but it’s welcome and it is most definitely needed. It seems as if the boat has stopped rocking and we can now see the horizon. We are of course looking in different directions.

It’s a strange feeling to know that you have you’re whole future ahead of you and you are now responsible for making it happen. I remember having moments in the past when I’ve been excited about all the possibilities that lie ahead. But over the years together the plans, as they do when you’re part of a family, involve considering other people and other things.

But now it’s different.

It’s a bit scary, but actually, over the past couple of days, it’s starting to feel a little bit exciting. And it’s due, in part, to the fact that the issue of the dog’s ‘custody’ is now settled and was a very easy and painless conversation to have and resolve. She will now spend every other weekend at his new home. For all her skittish and quirky behaviour – and she’s a good dog, if a bit neurotic – he’ll just have to make it work. They’ll both have to get used to it. She’ll live with me in the week, although extra dog walks he can fit in during this time have been offered and will be welcome when I’m working.

But suddenly I am being presented with the possibility of weekends with no responsibilities. No restrictions on my time, or where I need to be. The daughter can, and does, sort out herself, and is often so busy living her life that I don’t see her much. So it’ll be just me.

It hasn’t been ‘just me’ for years. 

I’m going to be broke, so some restrictions obviously apply. But I’ve got an amazing city on my doorstep where there is so much to do for free. I’m well. I’m able-bodied. I’ve got friends I can borrow membership cards from. I love walking. I will turn this to an advantage. I am so very very lucky.

That’s how I have to see this. And it’s not a bad thing to be forced to do. Appreciate my privileged position, and pick all the good things I can out of what could be a pile of crap.

Who would have thought that sorting out doggie custody would be the shining light in the dark!