I am alone. The Admiral and the Princesses are gone. They are on their annual sojourn to the far north to visit the Admiral’s folk, and I did not go. I do not do “alone” well.

I did not make this trip for several reasons. First, I was not invited. Not because I am at odds with my outlaws, oops, I mean in-laws, no, that is not the reason. I was not invited because all knew I would not accept.

They go for too long, this time for three weeks. What can you do for three weeks in the middle of British Columbia that you cannot do in three days?

“Wow, look at those trees!”

“Aren’t those the same ones we saw yesterday?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Don’t they look like the ones we have in our yard back home?”

“Yes, they do.”

“Okay, time to go.”

If you detect some sarcasm here, it is because I do not do “alone” well.

The main excuse for not going is that I have to work. At least, that is what I told the Admiral. She knows I can work there as well as here, but it plays better than lying in the middle of the floor of the airport, kicking my feet, and screaming, “I don’t want to go! You can’t make me go!”

She knows I would do it too. Can’t I just stay home and be happy? “Yes dear, you can, but you won’t be.” She knows, I don’t do “alone” well.

Every year, I secretly look forward to their leaving. I have the house to myself. There’s no yelling up and down the stairs, or room-to-room. If I want to watch ESPN sitting in my underwear, there will be no one to take offense. I can sleep as long as I like, eat what I want, watch as much TV and movies as I can, and work without interruption.

All of that is good for the first two or three hours, but after the first day, the truth sets in. I miss the noise, because I need diversions to work. I don’t like sitting around in my underwear. Why do I always think I would? don’t sleep late …ever. I hate to cook, so frozen dinners are my fare. I get bored with TV after 12 hours. I don’t do “alone” well.

I’ve been married for 37 years. I like being married. I told the Admiral that if she should pass this mortal toil, that I will have a date to her funeral. It is meant tongue in cheek, but there is a hint of truth in there. Although I would not have a date to her funeral, I would entertain any offers the week after. don’t like “alone,” and I don’t do it well.

As I write this, I am looking around for things to distract me, and find nothing. I’ve already been to the store … twice. The first trip was for more frozen dinners, the last for dog food. I’ve visited friends until they had to say, “well, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow,” as they pushed away from the table and started walking toward the door. I’ve harvested and worked in the garden. I’m sick of TV, and any of the six books I am reading hold my interest only as long as it takes for me to realize I am alone, sigh deeply, and look for something else to do. I am alone, and I do not do it well.

I think I’ll go pick through my frozen dinners and eat early tonight, maybe twice. What’s on TV? Sigh … I really don’t do “alone” well.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human-interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at david@starchasers.us.