Today I have been alone in the house, if one does not count the dogs. Mark took the car this morning and drove west to see his parents, and isn’t coming back until tomorrow.

The curious thing I’ve noticed today is how silent the house is when he’s not around. The background noise of my life isn’t there any more. There’s no murmur from the telly downstairs, carried through several wall so that whatever meaning the sound had was lost.

No talking on the phone on something like that. No sound from his music system, muffled by the same walls that dampen the television. It’s all gone, and it is almost a bit eerie.

It’s nine o’clock when I write this, and that usually means that one of us is by the sink in the kitchen doing the dishes from today. But I already did them at five, because my few cups and mugs and plates took no time at all.

Sometimes the dogs or the cat does something, and their claws scratch against the floor. Watson gives a bark or two if he hears something outside the front door. George gets his jollies, and bounds around. But these things don’t really break the silence. They just underline how quiet it is.

I have City of Bones by Michael Connelly on my desk here next to me, and it’s a book I’ve tried to get into all day, but as soon as I sit down I start to fuss with other things. Tumblr, games which I start and can focus on as much as I can focus on the book. It feels like I have ants in my pants, and can’t concentrate on anything but the sound of silence.

I even posted a Beatles cover, but then decided that it was so crap that I don’t want it to exist in public, and I made it private again. It’s been one of those days, I guess.

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