So what's it like?

I'm not a very good blogger, am I? Once a month just doesn't cut it, if you strive to be a well-known blogger. Oh well. It's the best I can do. On such short notice.

Or whatever.

Anyway. . .

Yeah, so it's been a month.

A month of peace. And solitude. And of no mGma, in general.

So what's it like with no mGma about? Well, it's like. . .bliss. Unequivocal joy. No coming into the house, brief pleasantries, and off to the safe haven of my bedroom. Nowadays, I can actually go into my living room and read the paper! No blaring TV, no constant game of twenty questions. No having to worry with who's coming over, whether mGma expects to eat with us, how she'll behave, IF she'll behave, having to explain my comings and goings each and every time I leave or enter the house.

In a word: Nice.

I feel much more at home in my home. It's hard to explain, but there really is a big difference. When she was here there was a lot of anxiety. Resentment. Animosity. Not overt, but underlying. Barely perceptible, just under the surface. Well, OK, depending on the day, it might be just under the surface or it might be right there on top, in your face, no doubt about it, I was just not feeling the love and was armed for bear. But for the most part, having to deal with mGma was a constant. . .annoyance. She just wasn't (isn't) pleasant.

Now don't get me wrong. I love her. I do. And I'd defend her tooth and nail against any non-family detractors. I can talk shit about her all day long, but YOU can't, see. That's just how it works. I know, it makes no sense logically, but that's just how it is. But I can bitch and moan about her all day long, because I'm family. That's why I have this blog.

But as I was saying. . .she just wasn't pleasant. And I'm happy as a little clam about having my house to myself again. Or, should I say, having my house to myself finally.

Although, I don't have it to myself tonight. William has a whole bushel full of teenagers over. And one of them brought a ukulele! Of all things! It's bad enough we have a banjo in the house, now we have to listen to ukulele.

It could be worse, I guess. It could be a bagpipe.

Thank FSM for small favors.

Oh well, Donald is snoring. There's just no rest for the weary in this house. Woe is me.

But at least mGma is on her own and thriving. To the best of her abilities, anyway.

And I have my house to myself. Most times, anway. Right after I run off all these teenaged miscreants.