all on my ownsome

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I am all alone. Well, I'm not. I'm on a bus. But last night I was alone. And tonight I will be alone. {except for the cats} And I love it. LOVE. IT. I also love Husband, but it is SO nice to have some time to myself in the evenings after work. Getting up at forty minutes past the five every morning, without having to worry about waking Husband is pure bliss. My alarm can shriek away to its heart's content, without Husband growling at me in his sleep. I can even turn the bedroom light on! Heaven! It's healthy, mentally. For me, anyway. I don't understand those couples who celebrate a sixtieth - or indeed, any large number - wedding anniversary with the words, And we've never spent a night apart, have we Ethel? I'm not convinced that that's that {I love the English language} big of an achievement. Husband and I will probably celebrate our sixtieth {maybe even our thirtieth!} with the words, Yay! We made it! We survived wo hundred and fifty-eight nights apart, a bunch of embarrassing medical ailments, a few unexpected deaths, fifty-nine cheesy Valentine cards, a plethora of Christmasses spent with others when we would rather have been alone together, and much biting of tongues when we didn't approve of each other's choices. And all the good bits were a fabulous bonus. Of course, when I'm not relishing the enjoyment of chilling out on my lonesome ownsome, I am worrying that Husband has forgotten to take his medication, or failed to remember to buy toothpaste, or isn't drinking enough. And in the meantime, I might even be really daring and watch The Apprentice in bed tonight, with a cheeky food item. Happy day! {It won't be; I have Art all day. *yawn* ... I'm just pumping myself up in preparation.}