I was going to liken reading to a gateway drug but I didn't know how. It's not like you start with novels and end up homeless witth encyclopedias.

I was thinking back to when I was single, and how afraid I was of always being alone. Being alone in the now meant I was going to die alone down the road.

Alone was nice in small sips, but generally feared. Now I long for huge gulps of alone. I guzzle it when I can.

I’ve been reading a lot lately, which is good and bad.

Good, in that curling up in a big chair with a book is one of my favorite things in life. And I had set reading aside for a long, long time. It's so easy to let it drop from the priority list. Because there are so many things to DO, and if you're reading, it doesn't seem like you're doing anything.

You know what I mean?

Bad in that my husband sometimes feels ignored – mainly because I am ignoring him - plus I personally am more interested in reading than preparing or eating dinner. But I can’t exactly read while Jordan is playing because believe me, I have tried. Whatever Mama is holding that diverts her interest from him is to be targeted, and if possible, absconded with.

I thought the Kindle, being grey and without flashing lights, might be subtle enough for me to get a little reading in here and there. Not a chance. He knows where my attention is, even if he’s on the floor next to me playing with blocks.

So, I start the reading after he goes to sleep, and then Nick comes home and I’m still reading and sometimes he wants to chat and I want to read. Sometimes I put down the book and spend some quality time with him. And sometimes I try to engage while still sort of reading, which satisfies nobody. Sometimes he has work to do, and so we are both in the same space, doing our own things, and it works out nicely.

Monday I was in a hell of a mood, and when Nick called on his way home, I didn’t even give him a chance to ask what I thought about dinner. I said, “I’m sitting in the red chair. I’m eating popcorn and reading a book and drinking wine. It is exactly what I want to be doing.”

He had empanadas on the way home. He later commented that I was difficult to interact with that evening. Perhaps because I did not want to be interacted with.

I cannot save the reading until we are going to sleep. I am dead tired when it’s bedtime. And anyway, I could be compulsively gambling or having Internet sex instead so really, in the scheme, this is mild.

Actually, I’m not sure why I’m justifying. I suppose because doing something just for yourself, when there are chores you could be doing (because when are there not chores you should be doing?), seems so very indulgent. And when you don’t see a lot of your spouse during the week, it seems like you should just want to drop everything when he comes in the door.

But how often do you get to be alone? Like, all alone? Do you miss it?