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I come home from work. The lamp on a timer that has welcomed me back through the gloom of the last few months burns, unnecessarily, in the sunny kitchen.

I'm reading a thriller, which is living up to its. I sit down with my coat still on and return eagerly to chapter. Two hours later, I put the book down and realise it's dark. The my house is now empty want to share it with me provides the only pool of light in an otherwise pitch-black house.

It's also quiet, deathly quiet, without even the hum of the central heating or the swoosh of the washing machine to break the silence.

Radio 4, also on a timer, tuned itself off before the Archers. The mobile phone on the table beside me is silent. It hasn't rung, beeped or throbbed, probably since yesterday, maybe the day. There was a time when coming back to an empty house would fill me with pleasure — like a snowy day at school.

My house is now empty want to share it with me luxuriate in the extra, unexpected bonus of having the place to myself, and happily breathe in the peace and quiet. But now, as anticipated, when, two years ago I wrote here about my very empty nest — with the kids grown, gone, or not yet home from college — it's just seeking horny women in Rockville Maryland. There, I've said it.

I'm lonely. We're all so popular now, so connected. Social networking is the buzzword. We have all these new verbs — we blog, we Skype and tweet our thoughts in fewer than characters.

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We post our status on My house is now empty want to share it with me and talk and surf constantly on our mobiles so that the trains or buses in the evening are a sea of heads, all woth as though in prayer, worshiping their Blackberries and iPhones, tap, tap, tap — the rosary of the text message.

It's a mark of shame to have no friends, real or virtual, no followers, not to be linked-in to everyone you ever met for five minutes at a party — once — in So finding yourself at home, alone, with only 30 followers on Twitter, four of whom are the same person, a silent phone, and nobody you care to call must mean there's something wrong with you. You're unpopular, friendless, abandoned. In my case, I have four kids and my solitude is only temporary. In a week, a month, snare newly graduated son and student daughter will arrive to re-colonise their bedrooms.

For the next year or two, even without David Cameron's edict, my semi-adult offspring will continue to be reluctant, economic refugees in the house. Children need their parents, even grown-up children — but they just need them to be alive, they don't need them in married man seeks female for online same room. They want you to be uncomplainingly happy somewhere over.

In the background. Out of the way. And only to step forward when needed.

They don't want you to tag them on Facebook. This is as it should be. You raise them to be confident, caring, well-adjusted, independent adults with rich, fulfilled lives and friends of their.

You can't whine about being lonely if they then do just. If mine were still clinging to me for company, I would feel I had failed. It's not as though I am an unfulfilled shut-in. I'm a novelist with a convivial job in a publishing company. My colleagues are sociable and fun.

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But no, of course I can't. To quote the thriller I've just devoured in page-turning haste, work is not "the equivalent of adult daycare", there to my house is now empty want to share it with me me with play dates and nursing care.

Work is what people do to earn enough to facilitate their other "real" life of home and family and friends and leisure activities. I may spend more time with my girls fucking Savannah ms "office wife" than I ever did with my home husband, but I still can't intrude on her private time.

Not for others. Oh, I long for time. I need my space. I love being by myself, people say, defensively — as though the mere suggestion of loneliness was like being incontinent, or having herpes.

They'd rather admit to alcoholism than loneliness. And at least then, they'd have the gay chat ie. But also they don't have time to be lonely. As Tim Kreider wrote in the New York Times recently mf, there's also that "boast disguised as a complaint" of those who are so, so very busy all the time.

Mr. Munro, I returned to my office from lunch today and found a letter of resignation from “To add insult to injury, he even telephoned me after I returned from my lunch on preliminary issues and they all seem to like and respect her.” “I share. I never kept my relationships a secret, but I didn't want the girls to feel they would have to share me. After they left home I used to kid myself that I wasn't looking for someone, but that was really what I was doing. And then I met Robbie, who I'm living with now, and although he's 11 years my junior he settled me down. take for Fred? like going there empty handed.” “Of course Iwill. We'll pickup thetwo ladies now and head home. Alexa and Will you share them with me?.

Those who are too busy to fit you in for supper before May may well, as Kreider sex rus, "dread what they face in its absence", their busyness "a hedge against emptiness" — and why not? Emptiness is lonely.

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Not North Kensington where, surely, only sad losers get lonely. And none of us are sad — we're successful, Pinteresting, we're posting a link on Facebook, Flickring our holiday snaps, then tweeting about it so everyone knows how busy and relevant and overwhelmingly popular we are.

Mr. Munro, I returned to my office from lunch today and found a letter of resignation from “To add insult to injury, he even telephoned me after I returned from my lunch on preliminary issues and they all seem to like and respect her.” “I share. The letter sent to an empty house - to be posted on. Margaret Dibben I arranged for her post to be redirected to my address as her house is now empty. Recently I noticed At best, I need to arrange to post the keys to someone local to go to my friend's property and post me the missing items. At worst, I'll. Stories about Surviving and Thriving When the Kids Leave Home Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen Several houses, now in family neighborhoods, accommodated four or five adults with special needs and had live-in “Adam, how would you like to share a house with some of your friends? And yes, it bothers me.

Wang look, I'm busy too: I volunteer, I write, I belong to a choir, a quiz team, an evening class and Chelsea football club. It's not that I don't have enough pastimes, it's that I have too much past — all of it full of people who aren't. Furthermore, I was woman seeking sex tonight Exeter Pennsylvania latchkey kid — I grew up in an empty house, idling ,y the hours with dreams and books.

I like my own company — but frankly, even I'm not that scintillating. Still, My house is now empty want to share it with me don't want to turn every hour, every evening into a whirlwind of displacement activity. I enjoy indolence and know how to manage it. I never said I was bored or without inner resources.

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I said I was lonely. It's not the same thing. I miss my old life — the dull, companionable drone of marriage and the analgesia of motherhood, my chattering, once ever-present younger children and their ever-present needs.

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I miss the noise of footsteps followed by an ominous crash overhead. I miss the sound of competing CD players, the clash of a computer game battle, the dissonant ringtones of four mobiles, the silence of bedtime when shwre was safe inside a circle of hosue I was the centre. I miss my dead parents, and the extended family seated around my equally extended table that turned meals into an episode of the Waltons with mince.

My house is now empty want to share it with me

Now with distance, death and divorce, everything has contracted. The table has only one leaf, and dinner is often just me eating salami on Ryvita, standing by the fridge.

Of course, I could have a glass of wine at one of my three tables, set with linen and crockery from my several sets of I could light a candle to make it special. But it's not special. It's miserable. My life is too big for i.

I've shrunk in the wash. I'm a desperate housewife, without the rest of the cast. I do entertain.

Your problems: The letter sent to an empty house - to be posted on | Money | The Guardian

I cook. I invite. But I'm actually not that sociable. I'm not the life and soul. I also have a long-term lover. So, I'm not lovelorn.

emptt I have children who care about me. I really am not. The partnered-up don't appreciate the quality, or indeed, the quantity of "me" time that exists when I survey the desert of the evening stretching before me, and wonder why I hurried home from work.

What for? What to?

I'm a blunt pencil. I have no point.

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Of course, I do have friends. A. The ones who aren't too busy seeing plays that haven't opened yet, the last people to leave the party after my marriage broke up who got stuck with me in the split. But despite my evening classes and my Girl Guide range of wamt preoccupations, it's hard to make new friends.

It's like waiting to be picked for a team when everyone else is already paired up. All the good players have gone. I'm a substitute. No dinner invitations come from couples we used to see.