So markus is gone for a couple of days. He’s up north on business. Up until a few months ago, Markus and I had not spent one night away from each other since I moved here in 2003. And I like it. I like my husband. A lot. There are not too many people one can spent 24/7 with and not hate or have hate you. Markus and I do really well together. That being said, I had totally forgotten how nice it can be to be totally alone.
Its a weird feeling when he leaves. On some level I feel like I did when my parents were leaving for day or a weekend when I was in high school. A sudden burst of unexpected freedom from responsibility and the anticipation of a scary night alone in a big house.
Now, I have to say, I have a pretty free lifestyle. I don’t work and we don’t have kids. I have a couple of book groups and some girlfriends. I have to workout a couple of times a week so I don’t feel completely worthless, but its not like my old U.S. life.
However, I do cook and clean up the house and neither of those things comes naturally to me. I hate cooking and cleaning is something I did once a month or when I smoked a joint when I was single. Now its a daily occurrence. It should be. Its not like I’m breakin’ my back. I’ve got a pretty cushy existence here.
But when Markus leaves, all cleaning and cooking stops. I make pasta and eat it out of the pan and leave the pan where ever I eat it. I leave my clothes where I take them off. Toothpaste lines the bathroom sink. I read all day, eating honey toast in bed. I do this all the first day until I can’t stand it anymore.
Then the 2nd stage starts. I pretend that the house is not mine so I can pretend its all mine. This is a complicated ruse to understand if you don’t know my OCD challenged husband.
I clean up everything and polish all the shiny surfaces until everything gleams. I move furniture to see if there is a better configuration and leave it that way for a while. I hang pictures where I want to without asking “does this look okay here?” with complete disregard to random nail holes.
I tuck in the sheets on the bed the way I like it. This is impossible to achieve if two people are in the bed.
I burn candles with no regard to errant wax spillage.
There usually is a moment of terror as I polish my toenails red in the actual bathroom. Cream colored marble makes this risky.
I listen to music that brings up old memories of past boyfriends, flings or stupid mistakes. No need to explain why I need to listen to the same song 15 times in a row. Air Supply’s Greatest Hits usually has some air time along with Journey’s GHs and possibly some alt boy band like matchbox20 or Lifehouse.
I try on all my clothes again to see what still fits, what fits better and what will never fit again. I don’t have to worry about someone witnessing the “jeans too tight” contortions as I struggle to zip them up. Then I hang them all up again, getting rid of nothing.
I open all the windows until my nose and toes go cold. German are a sissies about cold air.
At this point, when all the clothes are put back and dishes are done and toes are red, I start to think about Markus and low and behold its time for him to come home.
The single girl goes back into the box, sated and happy to know she’s still around.