Since the incident of the broken hip and two subsequent surgeries, I haven’t been able to go downstairs to our home’s lower level where my office is located. The dining room on the upper level has been my temporary home office for months.
It is the same dining room that is located in one corner of the upper level at the rear of the house. It is the same dining room that has two glass walls—two wall-size glass panels and a glass sliding door on each wall that open onto a wraparound deck. It is the same dining room that opens onto a wraparound deck, which an axe murderer can creep around and peer in to see solitary and defenseless me seated at the dining room table in my temporary home office writing this blog post just past the witching hour. ::shudder::
It’s my own fault that I’m home alone and up all night—and will be again tomorrow night. Macho Guy has been something of a helicopter husband following my injury and surgeries. While the physical and occupational therapists were teaching me to be independent and do as much as possible for myself, MG wanted to do everything for me at first, and he wouldn’t go anywhere or do anything that involved leaving me home alone. He actually persuaded neighbors to babysit me when he had to run errands! What am I, a child? Talk about embarrassing.
Once my condition began to improve, I convinced MG to resume his usual interests and activities—and to leave me home alone without a sitter. I even insisted he go on his annual three-day golf outing up north with his buddies. He deserved time off from taking care of me. He earned time off from taking care of me. Actually, it was more like he desperately needed time off from taking care of me.
“Enjoy yourself,” I said. “Have fun,” I said. “Don’t worry about me; I’ll be fine,” I said.
What was I thinking? The minute MG pulled out of the driveway, I made sure all the doors and windows were locked and then armed the security system. MG’s overnight absences always turn our house into a freaky Addams Family clone complete with eerie creaks and squeaks. It only happens the minute the sun sets and only when MG is not around. I’ll never understand that.
On a sad note, this is the first time I haven’t had Dickens the Schnoodle Dog for company with MG away overnight. Dickens crossed over the Rainbow Bridge in April. Somehow, having a home security system isn’t quite as comforting as cuddling my lovable little fur baby. I miss him more than ever.
So, here I am home alone in the middle of the night, with every indoor and outdoor light turned on, looking over my shoulder every few minutes, too freaked out to go to bed, and shaking like a James Bond martini. Will morning never come?