Tomorrow I have a day off work.

One of my sons asked me if I minded my husband being at work tomorrow instead of being at home with me. Before I could answer he pointed out that I never get any time to myself so, thinking about it, I probably don’t mind being home alone tomorrow.

It’s true, though, what my son said. I never do get time to myself. I enjoy ‘me’ time. I’m more than happy in my own company. However, at work I’m surrounded by people which is fine. You expect that at work. And, at home, I’m never by myself. Over the past four and a half years my family have tried, not always successfully, to never let me be at home by myself. Quite what they think will happen to me I don’t know but there was a time when none of them would make plans to go out unless they knew that one of the others would be home to look after me. But, every time I moved, someone would ask me where I was going or what I was doing. If I got up to get a drink or something to eat someone would say that they could have got it for me. There was one occasion when I was at home by myself when I got my car out so I could look for something in the garage. I put it away before anyone got home but my husband and eldest son both knew, somehow, that the car had been moved and wanted to know why. Why did they need to know?

I love my family and don’t want them to think I’m ungrateful for what they do for me. There are times, though, when I wish they would just give me some space.


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