I am on my own in the yellow house. Mr. C has been away since Solstice and now Brother is on an extended visit far from here. This isn’t the first time I’ve been left alone in the house but it feels different and I can’t put my finger on exactly why it feels different. I think perhaps the last time I was on my own for more than a couple of days, Mr. C had just left and it was a sigh of relief to be on my own. I know it was equally—if not more so–a relief for Mr. C to be alone in his other home.
I don’t mind being alone, but I don’t crave solitude as a norm. Despite the solitude, the dailiness I’ve created for myself, walks at dusk and watching the sunset continue to be a source of joy and contentment.
The biggest advantages to being alone: I can sing at the top of my lungs without annoying humans or making poor Gracie howl. I love to sing and I sing badly. The only person I’ve ever had the nerve to sing around is Mr. C because he loves to sing as much as I do. But he has a gorgeous singing voice.
It’s not necessary to mind my manners and don appropriate attire. Naked is fine when I’m alone. It’s amusing that Ms. Sex Positive is a bit pent up about modesty. But I often take cues from those around me; and while my housemates aren’t close-minded prigs, they aren’t nudists either.
The house stays much cleaner without the dogs. I don’t have mud, mystery bits, and dog hair to keep up with. But I also don’t have Piper jumping into bed with me or Gracie demurely laying her head on my leg in the office when she just drops in to say “hi”.
I don’t feel compelled to be imaginative for dinner but I’m trying to maintain the good habits I enforced upon Mr. C and Brother with well-balanced meals in reasonable portions. My MO when I’m alone at home has always been consuming anything I can find while standing at the kitchen sink. But I’m making meals for myself that I enjoy while seated at the table, like a non-feral human being.
I don’t have anyone to natter at after my workday is over. Nor do I have anyone at hand to tease and in turn metaphorically pull my pigtails. I can’t launch into a diatribe about some ridiculous news item passing on my Facebook feed. No one is trying to explain politics, economics, math or science as if I’m an intellectual equal. I miss the easy way we shifted between political science and the many ways we would have put Dr. Zachary Smith to death if we were with the Robinson family on the planet almost 50 years ago.
Speaking of high intellectual pursuits, binge watching True Blood is not nearly as fun without Mr. C mocking the melodrama. Without the mockery and politics I’m afraid my brain will be mush by winter. I should probably call Mr. C and have him talk math at me. But first, just one more episode of True Blood.