Anyway, so one evening I finally packed my bags after much huffing and puffing and headed off for a sabbatical from married life, the huffing and puffing owing to various reasons: logistical, practical and emotional. For one, it makes no sense to have to pack your bags: clothes, cosmetics, shoes – so many of them, toiletries et al to go and stay in another home just 3 km away from where you are. Secondly, my parents aren’t sit-at-home, cook and sleep kind of middle aged people. They have a hectic professional and social life most days, and I don’t want to be obstructing it. And then, it’s that thing I’ve said before – my addiction to The Guy. (Not fair, I say, to be addicted to someone/something that won’t be addicted to you). And then what’s the point of a husband and wife for going to two different homes when they have to spend the day together at work? I mean, what kind of reprieve from each other is that?
So I changed the rules of the game. This time round, I took off from work too to let The Guy enjoy ALL the single time in the world – work and play all by yourself. And to enjoy mine as well.
And it’s been great, for the part that I wasn’t ill. I’ve been pampered by mum – pampered silly because she knows I’ll be gone in a few days. I’ve read to my heart’s content because there was no internet connection there to distract me, watched TV shows without somebody insisting to check cricket scores every two minutes, visited relatives who’ve complained not without reason of my disappearing act, gone for art and craft exhibitions that The Guy could have only half-heartedly accompanied me to. I spent time with my 3-year old nephew, playing “House” with him, learning about MercuryMan – some super hero on Cartoon Network I’d never heard of before, read out stories to him, fed him, irritated him, cajoled him – all so much fun! I’ve taken mum out shopping, helped her organise those last minute dinner parties my dad is so used to announcing. And just being petted by Papa is so much fun – makes me feel like Daddy’s girl all over again. I even went for a sleep-over to my sister’s place, who lives with her husband and kid in the same city who was all ready to do my beck and call, except that I was a little under the weather to be my natural haughty self.
And what I love most about being home is the positivity – the feeling of living with hope despite the problems, of feeling the faith, of believing in good. It’s living without guilt – of sleeping too much, of being too little at home, of locking myself up in my room just to enjoy ‘me’ time.
On the other side, The Guy made use of his ‘space’ to hang out with his band of boys. He went for stupid movies with the boys without thinking he has a wife waiting at home, for beer guzzling sessions and ‘bachelor’ evenings. It’s great to be a bachelor, I’m told. And I believe. Since I’m such a talker and he’s the listener, it must also mean he gets his share of silence these days, I assume, apart from uninterrupted hours of television viewing. There must be other things I don’t know of that this living away from your wife entails, and I’d be glad to know my husband isn’t deprived of them.
So basically, we’re happy being single, going out for a movie together on the weekend, being there for each other when required and it’s more like dating than being married. It’s more enjoyable I guess because we know it’s temporary. And I hope there’s going to be some rekindling of passions when we get back together!
But I’m not going to tell you half truths. And the whole truth is that I hate the fact that he doesn’t seem to be missing me enough. So what if it’s just ten days we’re talking about living separately, I only wish he’d want me a little more than this, crave for my company a little more, want to listen to me a little more. Sometimes, it just hurts to love someone more than they love you even if they love you a lot.