All By Myself

I have a dilemma much like I had last Saturday, only this time my husband isn’t even here.

I. Am. Completely. Alone.

Well, unless you count the dogs, and they aren’t very good conversationalists. Though I do talk to them quite a lot. So much so that my husband says he doesn’t listen to half of what I say, because he never knows if I am talking to him or the dogs. I think if he listened to EVERYTHING I say, he would be able to discern when I am talking to him, and when I am talking to the dogs. Rarely is he the one I am speaking to when I say, “Come here puppy wuppie. Oh, behind the ear? Does that feel good? Scratchy, scratchy. Good boy.”

We have two cats also, but I don’t like cats. Very unsympathetic creatures. I would never waste my time talking to them.

As I was saying, I am all by myself. My son is at his other grandparents’ tonight. I guess it’s grandparents’ week. I didn’t get the memo, but it appears to be so.

(Ouch! As I’m sitting here, in my house, on my couch, typing this, some strange little bug just flew over, landed on my arm and bit me. Not a mosquito. Weird.)

My husband is in Indiana recording a CD with the southern gospel quartet, The Helmsmen, that he sings with. I think I have failed to mention the fact the he sings with such a group until now. It’s a fairly new development in our lives, and though I’ve meant to, I never gotten around to it. So here’s their site and here’s some videos on YouTube. See the problem is that while I think my husband is wildly talented, and I am wild about him, I am not wild about Southern Gospel Music. David Crowder is much more my speed. And just to clarify, we are not southern. We live in Michigan which is about as northern as you can get. Why that particular genre is specified by geographic location, even though many of it’s musicians aren’t actually from that part of the country, I don’t know.

It’s eerie to be all alone. Not that I’m scared. I do have two ferocious Cocker Spaniels to protect me. It’s eerie because since my son was born, I can only recall about three other times that I have been home alone. Usually if my son is gone and I’m home, my husband is here, because we’ve sent him off so that we can spend time together. And when my husband is gone, my son is always here.

I don’t have to be quiet and turn down the TV and tip-toe to the bathroom, so that my son, who’s room is right across the hall, doesn’t wake up. I keep catching myself listening for him. Then I remember there’s nothing to listen for. I was going to go down to the basement — that’s where I keep my husband — to ask him a question. (O.K., I don’t keep him there. That’s where he escapes from me and my crazy dog conversations. And his computer is down there too. He did not have the foresight to purchase a laptop as I did.) But then I remembered he’s not there either.

It’s actually kind of a nice feeling to be alone. I can do what even I want. I can watch whatever I want. I don’t have to do anything for anyone. Ahhhhhh! That’s me letting out a big relaxed sigh.

I’m not sure what to do wtih myself actually. I haven’t had so many options in quite a long time. I do have a chick flick from NetFlix that’s been sitting on top of the DVD player for a month. Probably should watch that and send it back. Or maybe I’ll just sit here and enjoy the silence. To tell the truth, I wasted most of the time already reading blogs and writing this.

O.K. Well, I’m gonna get this party started.

Shhh…. Can you hear that?

I don’t hear anything either.

Whoot!