Sometimes a woman just needs her space. When I need mine I choose to sit on the couch and watch a movie or an episode of my favourite series. Otherwise, if I’m feeling creative I write on my blog or do something else on the laptop. I have not picked up a book (that one over there in the sidebar) for a month now, because I have been too busy with assignments. But now that I’m on a break till July, I want to put more effort into my blogging and other things.
But this space thing in my house gets too comfortable sometimes. Most nights the Scientist and I automatically go into our own corners after Curly goes to bed. He’d be at his desk attacking God-knows-what in some PC game and I at the dinner table WordPressing, Facebooking, Google Plussing, Instagramming, torrent-hunting or tweeting.
Now, you know how we tend to think that our spouse can read us like a book? It’s no longer true when you spend too much time apart – in the same house. When I’m a little emotional about something and want company, the Scientist is too far away to read me. Two to three walls away in the back of the house. So I have to yell out “Hon? I need you.” Otherwise, sometimes I get no company at all until he wants some(thing).
So when I feel emotional and want company, I just want that… COMPANY. No talking, no touching. Just his body being there next to me, quiet as a statue. No talking, no touching. Even when he’s the one who pissed me off in the first place.
Samuel Beckett brought to you by Silly Mummy
But when it’s his fault, he must sit there… for like 10 minutes, quietly and then ask “What’s wrong?” because if he doesn’t, then I get really nasty because it means he didn’t care to ask the question. Once the question is asked, he then needs to keep quiet, no talking, no touching, just listen to me vent!
So I admit it, I need him — or his body, rather. And I know that it’s OK to need him. I don’t always need to be the tough woman people think I am. He makes me feel better, that’s why I married him. He is my rock.