Friday, 13 February 2009
When I blogged a few days ago about waking up in the middle of the bed and Simply Heather commented about that not being so good if one pushed one's spouse out of bed I got to thinking: not an easy task for me at the best of times.
I live alone. I'm very happy living alone. If I want to play Mozart I play Mozart (it's Rossini's Petite Messe Solonnelle at this moment as it happens) but if I want to play Meatloaf or Bonnie Tyler or The Cowboy Junkies or Stockhausen (which, I should add, has never and is unlikely ever to happen) then I can do so. I know that that was a trite example but it illustrates a principle. Please don't misunderstand me. I have lived en famille and have had good times including wonderful children. And, yes, I do sometimes miss having someone's back to stroke whilst going to sleep.
One of my dearest friends, on the other hand, hated living alone with no partner with whom to share life and its experiences. It seems that amongst my female friends she is in the majority.
But here I draw a distinction. Whilst I love living on my own I would hate to be alone. I am fortunate that I never have been. There can be no greater blessing (metaphorically speaking) than friends. And I am fortunate to have friends including a brother and a son who are very good friends.
Perhaps it's an age thing. Perhaps I'm just un homme bizarre avec une barbe grise. Whatever. I've made my bed and on it happily I will lie - generally alone!