This morning I didn't drive down the dark country roads alone - Jamie came with me, taking the wheel as he is want to do, as men do because they believe it's safer, as if their wives can't drive. It irritates me, but like many things in a marriage, you tolerate it because of all the good things. The independent, fierce one inside me wants to drive, but it's not worth the argument. If he wants to drive, he can drive. Whatever.

Sometimes I think I'm a terrible wife. I spend a lot of time finding ways to be alone. That's why I like surfing on my own - he's not a morning person, and enjoys his time in the shed with projects, so I get my alone time without asking for it or making him feel as if he's not wanted. I don't like him coming to the beach with me. Oh it's lovely really, don't get me wrong - we hoot each other onto waves and it's nice to share the session with the one you love. But I find myself irritated that he takes longer than me to get in the van, that he has to go to the toilet as soon as he gets there and runs off with the keys before I stop him. I don't like being mindful of another person when I go surfing - it's my time. Selfish, maybe, but I like it when it's just me and mother ocean. I don't like all the questions: 'have you seen my towel' 'where's the sunblock?''are we going in now?''I'm hungry'. It's just interruptions to my flow.

I think it's just that I really, really like being on my own, and it gets worse the older I get. When you're in a marriage, you have to consider the other person. Compromise. Care for them. I'm sure I'm not the only woman that gets fed up with that and wants to just look after themselves. But maybe I've always been like that. In every relationship I've ever been in, I've arranged it so I sleep in a bed of my own. Perhaps it's my nervous system. I get overwrought. I need time just thinking, processing, on my own, without the interruption of another.

The word 'interwaves' bubbles into my consciousness. Interwaving perhaps is the interplay between solitude and comapnionships - like the waves that move independently of each other but are part of the same body of water. There's a similiar ebb and flow of personal space in a relationship - the tidal pull of wanting to be alone, yet still being interwined, interwoven. Interwaving seems to encapsulate the way emotions and desires shift and merge and flow, just as waves do in the ocean. They have to be allowed to roll through, undammed. We allow each other space at the same time as enjoying shared moments. One wave brings space, another the opening up on the shore, the allowing, the recieving.

Maybe, in this process of interwaving, I let him drive not because I have to, but because I choose to.