My wife, my daughter and my son were all out of town the week before last, but I had to stay home because I couldn’t get the time off from work because of a major project we’re working on. There are times I enjoy having the house to myself because sometimes I just want a little peace and quiet. I can sit and read a book without being interrupted or having to switch rooms because someone wants to do something in that room that is noisy. There’s nobody there to ask me to do something for them, whether it’s driving someone somewhere or helping move something or helping cook something. I don’t have to do anything for anybody and I can just relax and take it easy. I know that sounds a little selfish but, like a lot of other people I know, I really don’t get a whole lot of down time so it is nice when I do.
I knew I would have to work some extra hours, so I thought it really wouldn’t matter that much that no one else was home. I’d go to work, come home and eat dinner, and then I’d do some more work until it was time for bed. I had dinner planned out for a couple of nights by just eating some leftovers, and I figured I could eat some food at work on Thursday because we have a “Happy Hour” where there is always some kind of food (pizza, a bunch of appetizers, pasta or Chinese food) and multiple beverages. In addition to all that, I had a company party on Saturday afternoon/night where all the food you needed was provided. That covered more than half the nights I would be responsible for my own dinner, so I knew I wouldn’t starve.
The first couple of days went OK and things seemed to be going along well. Two days had flown by pretty quick. As mentioned previously, I was working some extra hours due to a deadline, so it was work, eat dinner, work, and go to bed. Surprisingly, when I woke up on Friday morning it all sort of hit me: I’d been alone all week, the weekend was upon me and I was still going to be alone until late Sunday. I’ve heard of people who love the single life, being on their own, and doing what they want, but I guess I’m not one of them. I hate being alone for more than a couple of days.
In a previous post, I mentioned how much I hated how quiet it was when everyone but my younger brother and I had moved out and we were the only kids left with Mom and Dad. This was even worse, because when I woke up no one was in the house and when I came home no one was in the house. It was just so…empty. Even though I was seeing people at work every day, not seeing my wife and kids made feel extremely lonely. And even though I was speaking to my wife on the phone or by text, it just was not the same. The last couple of days seemed to stretch out forever.
Though this seems like it was all doom and gloom, something very positive did come out of my week alone. It helped me to remember how much I love my family and how much I love to be with them, both the kids and my wife. My wife is my best friend, and there is no one else I’d rather spend time with. The day she came home just happened to be our 23rd anniversary, so to say I was happy to see her would be a huge understatement. My parents were married for more than 50 years when my Dad passed away and I look forward to my wife and me reaching that milestone. Spending the week alone gave me a glimpse into what my life would be by myself and it wasn’t good. A little down time and some peace and quiet is good for a day or two, but I really hate being alone for much longer. I’ll take the noise, the driving, and the errands and, most importantly, my family over an empty house any day.