Nobody's home except me! This is a circumstance which up until recently was only fervently hoped for every once in a while, as I was cleaning up someone else's dishes, or finishing their laundry, or picking up extraneous crap from various perches. Now my husband works 100 miles to the north, arriving home only on weekends (and sometimes every other weekend), and my son, who rejoined the household in August, is currently about as far away as he could get without heading slightly back toward our domicile. He is in Australia.
I have discovered that I like cleaning up only my messes, and enjoy the total freedom of bedtimes, wake-up times, and meal times. I go out when I want to, where I want to go, and come back when I feel like it. I leave my keys where I want to leave them upon entering the house, and I can rest assured that they will be where I left them the next time I feel the need to drive somewhere. I put things away where I think they belong, and, miraculously, they are in the same place when I go looking for them again!
I also feel an incredible level of freedom when it comes to trash. My version of trash is not always anyone else's version of trash, and I currently have no one complaining when I toss a batch of old newspapers into the recycling. These newspapers might not be considered appropriate trash, because their crossword puzzles have not yet been completed. I am the crossword addict in the household, and if I deem a puzzle unnecessary, then I should have the final word on when it disappears. By the way, I have a huge book of crossword puzzles next to my bed, and when I finish that, I may feel differently.
I can hang things up where I want them to be, and be secure in the knowledge that my warmest jacket is right where I need it, and not buried under eight or ten jackets donated by contractors to my husband at various jobsites. It is very nice that construction people feel the need to reward project managers with warm clothing, but I have lost count of the donors, and therefore the number of jackets and/or hoodies. Did I mention that our 110-year-old house has very few closets? Our poor downtrodden coat rack sits by the front door, groaning with the weight of logo-laden winter wear. My stuff is somewhere underneath it all.
I can watch what I want to watch on TV. I can listen to music that I want to listen to. If I want to be on the internet for fifteen minutes or three hours I can do just that. I do not have to suffer through football games between universities I have never heard of, nor reruns of movies I did not care to see when they were initially released. There are no sounds of country or pop music wafting through my house, and I do not constantly hear about the latest "you tube" offerings.
However, when I wish to discuss a recent news event with someone, there is no one nearby. When I am greeted by a burned-out light in the cathedral ceiling of my family room, there is nobody willing to climb up a ladder and replace it. Large insects can rest assured they they will not be squashed while I am home by myself, as I prefer to leave the room where they live unoccupied. This also goes for small furry animals who like to make this house their home for the winter months. I will put out friendly traps, or even the occasional box of D-Con, but disposal is left up to the next person arriving home.
The things that go bump in the night will remain unexplored, and will tend to be the subject of my sleep-jarring obsessions. The electric bill will spike a bit, as this house when dark is far less friendly than this house with lots of lights left on all night. Other budgets might just be affected, too, as my ability to fix small household emergencies is pretty good, but the big stuff requires paid help. So far, since my husband started his job in New York, the furnace has needed repair, a major electric switch has decided not to work any more, and there is an issue in one bathroom that calls for replacement of the offending appliance.
Though I really hate to admit it, I am nowhere near as self-sufficient as I like to think I am. Though my time alone is enjoyable and peaceful, I admit to preferring the company of and conversation with at least one other human. Somebody had better come home soon, or the phone bill is going to go through the roof.
I have discovered that I like cleaning up only my messes, and enjoy the total freedom of bedtimes, wake-up times, and meal times. I go out when I want to, where I want to go, and come back when I feel like it. I leave my keys where I want to leave them upon entering the house, and I can rest assured that they will be where I left them the next time I feel the need to drive somewhere. I put things away where I think they belong, and, miraculously, they are in the same place when I go looking for them again!
I also feel an incredible level of freedom when it comes to trash. My version of trash is not always anyone else's version of trash, and I currently have no one complaining when I toss a batch of old newspapers into the recycling. These newspapers might not be considered appropriate trash, because their crossword puzzles have not yet been completed. I am the crossword addict in the household, and if I deem a puzzle unnecessary, then I should have the final word on when it disappears. By the way, I have a huge book of crossword puzzles next to my bed, and when I finish that, I may feel differently.
I can hang things up where I want them to be, and be secure in the knowledge that my warmest jacket is right where I need it, and not buried under eight or ten jackets donated by contractors to my husband at various jobsites. It is very nice that construction people feel the need to reward project managers with warm clothing, but I have lost count of the donors, and therefore the number of jackets and/or hoodies. Did I mention that our 110-year-old house has very few closets? Our poor downtrodden coat rack sits by the front door, groaning with the weight of logo-laden winter wear. My stuff is somewhere underneath it all.
I can watch what I want to watch on TV. I can listen to music that I want to listen to. If I want to be on the internet for fifteen minutes or three hours I can do just that. I do not have to suffer through football games between universities I have never heard of, nor reruns of movies I did not care to see when they were initially released. There are no sounds of country or pop music wafting through my house, and I do not constantly hear about the latest "you tube" offerings.
However, when I wish to discuss a recent news event with someone, there is no one nearby. When I am greeted by a burned-out light in the cathedral ceiling of my family room, there is nobody willing to climb up a ladder and replace it. Large insects can rest assured they they will not be squashed while I am home by myself, as I prefer to leave the room where they live unoccupied. This also goes for small furry animals who like to make this house their home for the winter months. I will put out friendly traps, or even the occasional box of D-Con, but disposal is left up to the next person arriving home.
The things that go bump in the night will remain unexplored, and will tend to be the subject of my sleep-jarring obsessions. The electric bill will spike a bit, as this house when dark is far less friendly than this house with lots of lights left on all night. Other budgets might just be affected, too, as my ability to fix small household emergencies is pretty good, but the big stuff requires paid help. So far, since my husband started his job in New York, the furnace has needed repair, a major electric switch has decided not to work any more, and there is an issue in one bathroom that calls for replacement of the offending appliance.
Though I really hate to admit it, I am nowhere near as self-sufficient as I like to think I am. Though my time alone is enjoyable and peaceful, I admit to preferring the company of and conversation with at least one other human. Somebody had better come home soon, or the phone bill is going to go through the roof.
well put!
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