"You Don't Know What You've Got, Until It's Gone"

How cliché is that?

It's been two weeks now that I've been living the life of a bachelor again. Not to fear, no big drama in my life. Lynn has been down in North Carolina preparing for an opera, and I've been living life as usual in this suddenly-just-a-little-too-big(-and-yet-still-small) apartment. Not that I mind a little time to myself, I don't, but I've been surprised by all the little things that show me she's not around.

It's kind of dusty. Lynn vacuums all the time. I can't think of how many times I'd sit down on the couch with a book, or a movie, and just about to enjoy some peace and quie—VRROOOOM. But now it's really quiet all the time, and there are little wisps of dust in the corner on the floor. Huh.

All her earrings are put away. At some point every evening, I turn off the living room lamps, put the empty cups in the sink (or at least near it), gather up Lynn's earrings off the coffee table and put them on her dresser on my way to bed. Now I turn off the lamps, put the cup away (I keep washing and re-using the same one), and walk to the bedroom feeling like I'm forgetting something. Where are they?

Ah, routine. I'm such a creature of habit, I like things to remain the way they are. Each day, I like counting on the fact that Louis (the doorman) always says "Ladies first" when we head to work, that our neighbor always says "Hey guys" when we pass her coming in from walking the dogs. Even the construction noise has become comfortably predictable—so long as it ends at a reasonable hour.

New routines are in order. Louis says "Hey guy" now, and the neighbor just says "Hey." I'm taking walks in the evening, eating dinner earlier. Mostly, I'm enjoying some time doing the things I haven't gotten around to doing lately. I'm reading more. And I'm working on projects for myself. I don't feel lonely much of the time, nor I do I feel content. It's a sort of nervous energy to do things that will make me feel better, and be better, when the apartment is filled with the noise and the earrings—but not the dust—that makes it home.