Terribly bad homesickness today after waking up at 9AM. Waking late is never a good sign. My preferred time to awake is 6:45 AM, which is about when my youngest sister gets up to get ready for work, soon followed by the next-youngest sister.
It feels very strange to be in an empty house again. No parents. No siblings No children. And not much sunlight, as our flat in the Historical House is in the attic, and the walls and windows slope. The ceilings are low, and on a day like today I feel that the reason my neck hurts so much is from years of the roof closing in on my head.
I love silence, but I prefer companionable silence, the silence of a sibling in their own room reading or of a parent listening to the television through her headphones or typing on the computer in his basement office. The silence of a cloth-swathed museum is something else entirely. The ghost (if it is a ghost) makes its presence felt very, very rarely, and then it is not particularly companionable, just alarming.
Fortunately, I had a Pilates class today, but I fell into the doldrums again when I discovered I had left the house without my wallet. I cannot imagine leaving my parents' house without my wallet. Of course my leavings there are also a mad scramble, but...
This house is terribly quiet, and the only living creature in it right now is me unless some spider in some some corner has been allowed to survive. As it is a Historical House, there is a team of specialists to make sure any little beasties who might damage it are slaughtered at once.
So far there are no bats in the very top of the attic, which is actually a mercy, for in Scotland bats have more rights than people, and once a bat is in your Scottish attic, there is no getting him out. That said, I rather like bats. Scottish bats are not scary; the wee ones that zoom about our woods at sunset look like hang-gliding hamsters. I don't think they would make good pets, though they would certainly look out for themselves when we were on holidays.
When I was in Toronto, I was struck by the loneliness of some of my friends. They had different kinds of loneliness. There was Single loneliness. But there was also the loneliness of the consecrated surrounded by the unconsecrated. There was mother-at-home-with-baby loneliness--a particularly poignant kind, hard for the childless--or working husbands--to understand. And there was also the loneliness of those who were far from their families, having chosen love in Toronto over returning home. Loneliness seems to be a fact of life, and there's no escaping it entirely.