Living On My Own...

I always thought of myself as a fairly solitary person - not really made for communal living. My family life was pretty isolated; we lived in the same house, but mostly tried to keep out of each others' way, and I loathed University, where I first had to live in Halls of Residence, and than in a large, noisy shared house.

I don't sleep well, you see. I have very sensitive hearing (seriously, I can hear the guy in the flat downstairs when he snores), and the merest chink of light wakes me up.

I did have some trepidation when I got married - not about the man I was marrying, but about the general logistics of living in such close proximity to someone else. I worried that the little things would drive me slowly insane, and I would end up hating the person I had once loved so much.

Broken Man's snoring *does* drive me insane, and often drives me to the (comparative) silence of the living room (once I have switched off the buzz of all the electrical equipment) but the fact that every night, he takes a spray to minimise the snoring, just so that I can sleep better, more than makes up for it.

It makes me so cross that he *still* smokes, even though our baby is due in less than three months, but I remember that in trying to quit, he has taken up knitting (briefly), used patches which gave him awful execema, and currently uses a slightly odd looking inhaler. How can I stay cross when he is trying so hard?

So, I'm getting used to not being a solitary person any more. This weekend is showing me just how much I have become accustomed to actually sharing my life with someone else, as opposed to simply sharing space with them.

This weekend I haven't woken at 2 or 3am, to remind Broken Man to come to bed. I haven't worried about having the TV on at night, to drown out the downstairs snoring. I haven't crept into the living room at 5am to sleep and I haven't checked the label of everything I eat for garlic (he's allergic). However, I have locked the front door before I go to sleep. I have (bizarrely) slept on my side of the bed, even though it's all available to me (although he'll tell you I don't do that when he is there!) and I have carefully avoided watching the TV programmes he might want to see when he gets home.

In short, I miss Broken Man. I know that 2 nights is not exactly a long time, and that many people have to live without their partners for much longer, but it came as a bit of a shock to me really. I miss Broken Man, and life is better when we're together.

Sorry for not posting the usual Saturday theology session - I am certainly not up to Broken Man's level, and will leave the theology to him!

Thanks for being such lovely readers during my "guest blog" slots!

Broken Man's Wife