A night on my own? This is an odd thing to say really. Ian is away down with my family but I don't have a night on my own because his father is still in the house. So I am not on my own and yet it feels very different.
I have always liked a night or so to myself. I like the silence. I like the absence of football on the television or the noise of the radio. I like the way I can sprawl all over the bed when I am on my own. Knowing there is someone else here stops me from falling down quite so utterly into a bed of silence and luxurious solitude. But still there is a quiet and an indulgence. I am here at the laptop with no sense that I should be stopping, going upstairs, going to bed.
Tomorrow I will notice the absence of laughter and chat. By the time Ian comes home again I will be desperate for company and conversation. Already I miss him but how do you notice absence if you never have it? So tonight I will sprawl across the bed and read until far too late. Tomorrow I will begin to count the days until he returns.