I went out to the movies with Son2 today, and then took him to T-Mobile so he could buy himself a new cell phone.  Then I went to the fabric store and got material to make a tablecloth for a 3x12 surface.  By the time I got home, the house was completely empty.  This almost never happens.  Three members of the household are sleeping elsewhere tonight, and the fourth is working a 12 hour graveyard shift.

I don't like the house this empty.

I remember when I used to treasure an empty house.  I started musing about what was so different between then and now.

Then, I was still rebelling against the utter lack of alone-time and, frankly, privacy that characterized my cohabitation with KOP.  He was Always Fucking There.  And beyond the wall between me and my emotions was a seething morass of resentment, anger, and fear that I wasn't even aware of until about three years after we divorced.  I was so disconnected I couldn't even tell I was nauseous.

Now, I adore my roommates.  I miss them when they're gone.  I don't like the house so quiet.

This environment is very different from fifteen years ago, and right this minute, I'm lonely instead of relieved.