I've had some strange alone time lately. I'll take my supper break from work and go home like usual. Most days, it's to put the kids to bed and grab a bite to eat. But every once in a while, like tonight, the kids are at their grandmother's so that the Hub can go to a weekly film society meeting. So, there I am, alone, with my slice of pizza and House MD. No snuggles, no wrestling, no separated anxiousness pulling at my pant leg, no whimpers or whines (not counting the cats'). I let myself sink for a minute or 57. They tick away slowly from the shallowness of the moments. No depth of sound, no rich, belly-laugh sights to distract from tick . . . Tock . . . Tick . . . Tock. The time crawls by with a lack of exuberance, lack of substance. Any other day it would zoom by in staccato, double-time aerobics-video style - minus the leg warmers and leotards. I would laugh and yell and be stern and soothing and whisper affection just as my last - too few - sand grains dribbled through pulling me out the door again.