It is my habit to get up early and have a very precious hour to myself. I'm not doing anything special -- it's just very treasured solitude. Well, for me, solitude is something special, and I have to work to ensure I get it.
I'm not getting it! Today my husband was suffering a bit of insomnia, and has been up since 4 or something. So he's around, doing whatever. He's done this a few times this week.
My 14-year-old has this week decided she's a morning person. (At 14! She really is her mother's daughter, that one...) So up she gets at six, putzes about in her room for 20 or 30 minutes, and then she's downstairs with me. Chatting, being social and generally lovely. AND I JUST WANT HER TO GO AWAY. Which of course I don't say, because she's 14 and would only be hurt. And besides, she's 14. I'm going to be a total ingrate about behaviour I should not be taking for granted? Noooo!
But still. My solitude, she's gone. So as I stood at the sink, doing the leftover dishes from yesterday evening, and feeling like I was being compressed on all sides, crushed, borne down upon, I decided to go for a walk.
darkish out there at that hour, and chill. Your breath shows when you breathe. Definitely fall, with the suggestion of wintry iciness in the breeze. Nobody but the occasional runner along the river, or dog-walker, each of us in our own quiet worlds. My legs pumping as I walked very briskly, my breath, the silence, the leaves on the ground, the river. Even the darkness, contributing to the feeling of isolation. Perfect!
I feel good.