A night on my own

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.