As it worked out, there was not bad weather (at least not bad enough to warrant the amount of time various weather people spent warning us of the potential storm and telling us to avoid travel because we would likely die if we left the safety of our homes). There was no real storm. They fucked up, plain and simple, and freaked the citizens of southern WI out for no apparent reason other than that weather people feed off the fear and terror of normal people. And they are evil bastards. Anyway, the man had to work (and the dirtbag, piece-of-shit roommate was also gone somewhere) so I had the house to myself, not counting the cat and dog. It was bliss.
Seriously, it was fabulous beyond description. I was able to keep the house clean for multiple hours at a time...make lots of noise without worrying about other people...walk around in various levels of undress without fear of the dickbag roommate appearing in his usual pervertedness...work on projects without the man coming up behind me thinking that I look cute while concentrating and trying to get randy. It was like living alone again.
Oh, how I sometimes yearn for the years I spent living alone before I became we. No people unless I wanted people. The whole bed to myself. All of it. And I didn't have to worry about maneuvering through a mountain of dirty clothes to get to the bedroom door. There were bags of chips that didn't disappear mere hours after they were brought home (unless I, myself, made them disappear). Yes, I was lonely at times, but it was wonderful. I was carefree.
The man knows that I sometimes miss living alone; I think he does, too. It has been longer since he lived alone than I, so I imagine that he has nearly forgotten the luxury of having his own place. We have our own areas, places where the other doesn't venture often, that give us some semblance of privacy...but it isn't the same. I have come to the conclusion that you have to love someone so much that you are willing to go through the rest of your life without experiencing the nirvana that is living alone. Or, you have to be stubborn to the point that you will not admit that you would rather live by yourself. One or the other, I imagine.
For as much as I miss living on my own, though, I don't think I would want to live apart from the man. This bothers me. It makes me feel old. I wonder if this feeling ever goes away, the fear of being adult...the fear of having to say goodbye to your youth to embrace the future? I'm not sure I want to know.