I’ve been home alone this entire week. When I walked away from my desk job I knew it meant turning my back on a regimented day-to-day schedule. No more alarm clock, no more bowl of cereal at the kitchen sink, no more cursing the train for being too crowded with fellow nine-to-fivers.
My first year of cubicle freedom was shared with my husband who happened to be working at home, too. Annoying at times, this roommate/officemate… I had to pay attention to when he was on a call because it meant I couldn’t press the pulse button on the food processor like I had an index finger muscle spasm. But it was nice to have someone to share lunch with.
But now we’ve moved and he goes to the office and on days when I’m not shooting, I’m home. Alone.
Some people like to eat alone. I am not one of those people. I do eat—lots, too, and often straight out of the fridge— but it’s not as satisfying, even when I treat myself to lovely Swiss mustard, thick-cut slices of good butter crusted with Maldon salt, crusty bread, and horseradish pickles from the delightful Divine Brine folks.