Today, after a long period of learning at home, our daughter had to go back to school – and I moved out. The number of covid cases keeps rising and I am in a risk group (and so far non-vaccinated), so we decided to rent me a room. It was not an easy decision – we agonised over it – but there was no alternative that would have been both safe and tolerable. (I did consider barricading myself into the bedroom and using a bucket as a toilet, and my DH gallantly offered to empty the said bucket when needed. True love!!! But due to hygiene issues, that plan was discarded.)
Now I have moved into a small room in an old wooden house. I have unpacked and am trying to settle in. I don’t fear being alone or getting bored, it is the separation from my loved ones that makes it very nearly unbearable. We three are something of a very close-knit unit as it is, perhaps even more so now that we have spent a year almost entirely in each other’s company. They are not far away, however; I can go home whenever I want to. There is that. It is entirely possible that after three hours of this, I will ask my DH to please come fetch me home.
It has now been two.
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