I’m in Good Company

I come here mostly to write, but also for the camaraderie.

Carol Burt

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Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash

Most days logging onto Medium feels like coming into a neighborhood bar filled with good friends that I see almost every day and know well.

I am a lonely woman. No, I don’t live alone. I live with my husband and he doesn’t talk unless forced to, and then it isn’t much. It’s certainly not satisfying to talk to the side of his head, and sometimes receive not so much as a nod to indicate he heard me. I’ve been talking to the side of his head while he stares at a screen for 25 years.

Any of our “talks” involve me talking and him (mostly) listening and do not include responses of any length from him. In fact, sometimes he just sits there and lets me talk on. When I pause or finish, he sometimes says, “so is that all you wanted to talk about?” Sometimes he nods while I’m talking.

He is a good man. He pays our bills, is exceedingly generous with me and agrees on almost anything I decide I want. He is a little stingy with himself — I just had to urge him to buy a new laptop after his kicked the bucket. He is of high moral standards (now) and is faithful (now) and dedicated to family life. He mainly enjoys his computer and television, and he seems content as long as someone fixes something to eat around dinner time. He has some habits that drive me nuts, but I’m sure I have some that make him feel the same.

The man just can’t communicate. He is just silent. Mostly. And I am mostly used to it and talkative but I seem to have less patience than I did earlier in our relationship. I guess I found him mysterious then.

I have a daughter and grandson who live upstairs in our house and sometimes they are good company. But they live busy lives and both have significant others, various pursuits, and full-time jobs, so they don’t have much time to spend sitting around talking with Momma/Nana. And I do not expect them to. I supposedly have a mate for that.

I need a therapist. Looks like I’m going to have to pay someone to listen to me and respond — or even have some ideas about what I say that they can communicate to me.

But, for now, I have Medium. You Medium writers just don’t know the hole you fill in my silent and lonely life. When I…

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Carol Burt

Former print journalist, former mayor, retired law enforcement officer. Writing about politics and government along with random personal essays.