Day and Night


Never liked early mornings, always a night owl. Now I wake at 5am or thereabouts, what time of day is that?

Love looking out of the window and draining the last dregs from a pot of Stokes Assam tea. Rain or shine I see our garden and plan what to do next. Day off? Plan put into action, weather permitting. If wet, play in shed or outbuildings; I have two more outbuildings to renovate yet.

Work day? well, work. That accounts for thirty hours a week, plus travelling. Sometimes manage to do some gardening after work.

Shopping and housework take up some time too. Medical stuff, that’s frequent and adds up. Age stuff, mainly.

Visits to family, visitors. Time with my lovely daughter.


So my days are full, plenty to do. Lots to keep me occupied. Distractions aplenty. These days more smiles than tears. Just. Plenty to look forward too, holidays, birthdays, new arrivals, crops, all good.

But then along comes.


Once something I welcomed with open arms, my time for relaxation and fun.

The light fades and it’s too dark to garden, work in the shed or do any renovation work outside. Neighbours to consider. Stomach to fill.

No distractions. Now what?

Cooking is no fun, routine. Quick and simple please. No fun cooking alone, no one to dance with.

Never was one for watching mindless crap on the idiot lantern, bit of MotoGP, the odd cookery programme, a decent documentary or film. Can’t keep up with a series. Tried and failed.

No cuddles on the sofa, watching crap, or for that matter something decent.

Music. Now I love my music. Always have, always will. Never been affected by it so much though. Lyrics I never heard before are now relevant and stinging. Tunes I love remind me of good times and bring on the tears. Lots of bittersweet sounds.

I avoid music at night, emotionally risky.

Not read a book since our last holiday. That’s a shame because I used to love reading. I know I will be able too one day, just wish it was now. Mind wanders, drugs kick in. Clock tells me its time to sleep.

But that means going to bed. The empty bed.

I revert to being a child and employ delaying tactics. Oh you parents know EXACTLY what I mean. Hopefully your children don’t have another gin though.

Bed. Silence. No hug. No cuddle. No hand hold. No warmth. No I love you. No gentle breathing. No snoring. Nothing. Silence.

It’s the knowing that that awaits that I find incredibly difficult to deal with.

Night in. Night out.


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