Thursday, July 12, 2012

There are some real consequences of living aloneish, and having to drag the compost, recycle and garbage bins in from the curb is one, mowing the lawn is another and having no one but yourself to sniff out the stinky thing in the refrigerator is another.

I like a great deal of personal space; I like to read in silence, sit in a room alone, for instance, but I don't really like being alone.  I would not, for instance ever like to be single.  Never liked it and don't find it appealing in the least.  I need to be needed and I need to know I have someone in the next room that I can need, if I want to need them.

When Maxwell was a baby Mark traveled constantly.  He was gone about eight weeks out of the year, and worked fifty hours a week, so I was used to being alone often. 

In the past seven years or so his travel has diminished a little each year, and now when he goes on a trip I feel it.

I am not sad, or lonely, I just feel an absence, like I have misplaced something, I need to have near by.

I am taking refuge in the big stack of books he picked out for me before leaving.  Mark worked in a book store for years and year, then in publishing, so he has a keen sense for matching books to readers.  I wish you could make money off that type of talent.

After being a ravenous reader my whole life, I am just now coming out of the freakish slump of two months where I barely touched a book.  I am reading Raylan the novel that the series Justified is based on.  I love the show and the book is quite entertaining so far.  Who doesn't love a philosophical, badass US Marshal in a big cowboy hat? 

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