Lonely again

It didn’t really hit me until I got home this morning. Moving through time zones and airports and standing in queues to retrieve luggage and explaining to a Singaporean taxi driver where Chinatown is didn’t leave much opportunity for contemplation. It was only when I got home, struggled with my keys to get the padlock off the gate, and stepped through into the darkened, tidy interior that I really understood it was empty.

Six months ago, it seemed quite sensible to us to keep La Serpiente Negra away from Singapore for the summer. She’d avoid the heat and the smog, and get to see Canada. We hadn’t considered that she’d be up and mobile, and busy gurgling, grinning and waving at us.

Until a month ago I hadn’t realized the opportunity it would grant for me to sleep properly; that’s nice and all (though at present the bed is covered with all the things I unpacked from the suitcases) but it’s less fun to wake up when there’s nobody else around.

Tonight I got home from the office, sorted through the mound of mail that had arrived, and grazed on nuts and chocolate for a few hours. There’s no potato crisps in the apartment, so I can’t batten onto those and swell up to an inordinate size, but then I haven’t been brave enough to weigh myself yet either – all those doughnuts and burgers will have had some consequences.

I made a list of things to do. It includes exciting things like the laundry, and repairing the door to the rubbish chute, and wiping all the dirty marks from my suitcase. Thus far, I’ve managed to slice a loaf of bread and grapple with an intransigent photo management program, and my brain is beginning to rot and dribble from my ears. Tomorrow,back to the track. Tonight, I sleep.

3 responses to “Lonely again”

  1. Bloody hell I turn my back and one weekend long expedition assessment later your blog is overflowing with posts.

    I have never managed to get my head round loneliness. When we are single we get used to it but at the back of my mind is always a nagging dull feeling that there are lots of things that would be better shared.

    When we have partners and families, when those things are taken away, it causes devastation to us and little minds and bodies go haywire.

    So my question is, why is it better to find happiness only to subject ourselves to the risk of having it taken away?

    I’ve been asking myself this since well before I was married.

    • I don’t think I ever got particularly used to being single; I remember a lot of my twenties as blundering around feeling very down. (Not that it was a 24-7 gloomfest, but it certainly felt something very significant was lacking).

      • Sometimes I feel like that but it’s interesting seeing the variation. At the moment I’m OK because I’m writing again and then I don’t notice too much what is going on in my personal life. Sometimes I wonder what do I really want and I am not sure I want to live with someone and have them around all the time again. But it would be nice to *know* that someone is there for me, that’s the key for me. When I am in a nice relationship, I *do* tend to want that person there all the time, so perhaps having something there makes you feel the loss of it more. But it’s been a while I felt that and maybe I am different now.

        I need someone to come along again so I can find out.

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