Home Alone

Hold on, to me as we go
As we roll down this unfamiliar road
And although this wave is stringing us along
Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

Settle down, it’ll all be clear
Don’t pay no mind to the demons
They fill you with fear
The trouble it might drag you down
If you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone
Cause I’m going to make this place your home

~ Phillip Phillips – Home

I’ve lived alone before. There was college and then that nasty period after my separation and divorce from the practice husband. Technically my Raleigh condo time could also be classified as ‘living alone,’ as Iona and I were the only consistent tenants. But now my #hothusband and I find ourselves ecstatically married and living apart most of the week; we are home alone. 

Sure, I travel a lot and have therefore spent more time than the average girl sleeping solitary. BUT hotels and homes are certainly not equal. No, no, no, they are not equal. In hotels people pick up after you, and do your laundry, and help you with things, and bring you food if you pay them more money. And let’s be honest – you expect to be alone when you are in a hotel – unless you are traveling with a loved one, or on the quest to find a loved/loving/one-night one.

But again, if you are a delightfully married human living apart from your loved one, you have realization moments that you are indeed…home alone.

  • Doors are mere suggestions. You simply stop closing closet doors, bathroom doors, and outside doors.
  • Window blinds fall into a similar camp. “I live on the 26th floor,” I say. “Who can see me?” “EVERYONE who lives and works in EVERY building next to you!” retorts my husband.
  • It’s totally fine to eat shredded chicken directly out of the crockpot. At the time I was engaging in said dinner, a friend across town texted me that she was eating ground beef from the skillet with a spatula. A SPATULA. Heathen. At least I was using a fork.
  • There is no such thing as a full load of laundry. When you run out of underwear, you do a little load of underwear.
  • It feels shameful each week to wash the sheets as I only use a small vertical portion of the bed; I should just move over to the other side.
  • When you don’t make your bed, no one else does either.
  • It’s cool to put pickles and Sriracha on everything. No one complains.
  • I drink less.
  • I walk in circles a lot.
  • Grooming occurs in bulk. Before #hothusband arrives, I must 1) get waxed 2) get a facial 3) inspect everything 4) straighten my hair. All within 24 hours.

My pretty man arrives next week and I’m giddy about it. Although I will have to close some doors, use a plate, and lay off the pickles…I also know he’ll help fill up the laundry, and fill out that very empty side of the bed. We’re going to make this place a home.