alone in my bed

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I'm not, by the way. I'm actually on the bus {who'd have thunk, eh?}. However, I was alone in my bed last night. Husband has left me. He's tootled off to stay in a hotel somewhere far away. He'll be back, you mark my words. By the week's end he'll be home, tail between his legs, making me nice cups of tea. Why is it that when I get the bed to myself I still sleep as if two of us are in it? I could sleep diagonally if I wanted. I could sleep smack bang in the middle, or on my back with my arms outstretched, in a Jesus pose. I could get out of bed on his side, nearer the bedroom door and thus saving me twenty seconds, but I don't. I did use his pillows to prop myself up whilst supping on my bedtime cuppa and watching the tellybox. I watched something I knew he'd hate, just because I could. The Marvellous Mrs Maisel. It was jolly good fun. And I think I've spelt it correctly. I was even able to get dressed in the bedroom! Oh my golly gosh. Heaven! And so, another day at work will soon begin. Lessons on Forest Schools and maths, before home to another lonesome evening of doing whatever I want to do. Happy day! {Don't panic! Husband is simply on a course for a few days, learning work-y type stuff.}