Carole’s been to London.
She went yesterday, she’s back tonight a some point after 10pm.
As much as I thoroughly enjoy my own company – and I really do – it’s strange to not have her about. To do things, or see things, and think “I’ll tell Carole that…” and then realise she’s not going to be about for a day or so, meaning I have to remember things. I already can’t remember things I meant to tell her. So that’s completely out of the window.
But the strangest thing was this morning, as I just woke up naturally.
It was weird to just wake up. Not to be woken up by an alarm that goes off earlier than my alarm used to go off at when I used to leave the house at 6.30ish. Not to be lying in bed, drifting in and out of sleep, and then be woken by the stealthy ninja fresh from a shower and, quietly, finding a comb or putting on deodorant in the noisiest way possible.
Or going to the curtains and pulling them open in the middle to peer through. And then saying that I do it all the time. Which I don’t. I go from an edge because I am a kindly bedfellow and not one who feels the need to find out if your companion is a Gremlin by exposing them to direct sunlight.
It was strange. I’m not sure I liked it.
Which is even weirder.
I’m not sure I liked just waking up and not being almost immediately hit by a list of things that Carole had planned for the day. Or all the conversations that she didn’t have with me yesterday because she was falling asleep but now she’s fully recharged you better strap in, bucko, because there’s a lot of stuff that needs discussing.
Or just waking up and not hearing the, almost, catchphrase “If you get chance…”
Or finding out I had still had full access to the quilt.
I didn’t even know that was possible.
I’ll be glad when she’s home and stealing my side of the bed with her pointy limbs, or snaffling the quilt away so that Peppa’s claws go straight into my flesh when she leaps off the chest of drawers.
I mean, once she’s finished excitedly telling me about EVERYTHING.