Kate’s back in New York for a three-day conjugal visit / book unpacking frenzy. I’ve never lived by myself, so when in years past friends have talked about the wonderful perqs of only having your own hair to pick out of the shower drain or not having anyone to blame for leaving two bites of ice cream in the carton, I’ve just nodded and taken it on faith.
Sure, there are a couple of things I feel more free to do when Kate’s not around. Let me see…
Burp, chew with mouth open, etc. Er, no, we both burp around each other.
Walk around the house in my underwear. Given my upbringing and the heat levels in our apartment, this behavior will only change when the Queen visits.
Do more schoolwork. Well, kinda. Like a lot of people, I actually find it easier to stay on task when there’s someone nearby who might be watching.
Ignore our remaining unpacked boxes. We’re running a little low on places to put things, so why not leave them in the convenient boxes in which we brought them to New York?
Drink. Nope. I’ve got way too many bad associations with “drinking by yourself,” mostly of the “it’s a sure road to alcoholism” variety. Ah, a childhood spent in close proximity to 12-step programs.
When Kate comes home, though, I find myself calmer, more myself, happier… it’s a great thing. Saturday she leaves for an 11-day stint back in New Hampshire, which I’m really not looking forward to. I’ll be very glad when this commuting phase ends. Lots of other couples have handled far worse, and I’m sure we would if we had to… but I’ll be glad when we aren’t.