I've lived alone now for more than a year. In fact, He moved out in August of 2006, and I moved into my current location a year ago right about now.
It's been a rocky year. Yes, I still cry sometimes over what might have been. I still feel angry over the broken promises and the cold black loveless heart I sometimes feel I was left with. But for the most part, I love my life, I love my home, and I love who I am.
He rarely slept in pajamas, and He never really understood my need for sleepwear. No matter how many times I explained that my favorite things to wear were made of flannel or soft, worn cotton, He never seemed to "get" it. Sleeping in the buff just never held any real appeal to me. I guess that's just another way He and I never found a way to "connect."
So imagine my surprise when, last night, after my shower, I just dried off and got into bed. It was warm at Chez Mags, and the cool cotton sheets felt really good. (There's a history behind these sheets, mind you. They used to be on one of the beds at my family's vacation home in Kentucky, and it feels good to sleep in them.) Not only that, but for the past year, I've pretty much stuck to "my" side of the bed. But not last night. Last night, I wriggled right into the middle.
It would appear that, bit by little bit, the "old" Margaret is melting away. The frightened girl who clung to what used to be is slowly becoming someone new. And that someone sometimes sleeps buck naked, in the middle of the bed.