GIRL TALK: Togetherness is often home alone

As anyone who knows me will attest, I've never been one for long silences ... or silences of any length actually.
A pause for breath, a peaceful lull in conversation, even uncomfortable silences are rapidly filled by the sort of inane chatter or unsolicited opinions for which I have become (in)famous.
My boyfriend suffers this affliction stoically by turning up the volume on the TV remote or turning down the aerial inside his brain which registers that I'm talking at all (along with an extra rib, all males are born with this special feature, designed to facilitate cohabitation long enough to ensure the perpetuation of the species).
This week, however, I haven't talked to my boyfriend at all.
In fact despite living under the same roof and in the same bed, I haven't even looked at him for days. While some men might consider this an unexpected act of mercy, or others a sign that they are officially in the dog box, for us, it is simply the result of shift working.
The combination of me running a small seven-day-a-week business in town and my other half running around playing cops and robbers at all hours of the day and night means that for days at a time we live under the same roof yet in a totally different universe.
A regular day at the coal face has me at the studio by 8.30am. Late shift has my policeman boyfriend on the beat by 1pm and home just in time for his better half to be passed out in bed at midnight.
This can continue for four or five days at a time before a change in shift sees us get two or three hours together in the evening before night shift or a Saturday morning undisturbed before I head off to shoot a wedding.
At first this situation made me feel rather short changed.
While I sat at home alone and watched chick flicks, painted my nails, gossiped on the phone to girlfriends and turned up Brooke Fraser loudly on the stereo, everyone else got to hang out with their men and ... fight over which channel to watch, which CD to play and what housework to divide.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to work out that time apart actually had distinct advantages.
Co-habitation between a man and a woman is unquestionably a natural state of affairs for all sorts of cultural, social and practical reasons.
It's how we halve the mortgage, raise our kids and have someone else to put out the rubbish on rainy nights in winter.
And while I'm not cynical enough to deny that love and companionship are definite advantages to living together, I'm also realistic enough to know that you can get too much of a good thing. Saying that familiarity breeds contempt is unfair and untrue.
I absolutely adore spending time with my man, although time has taught me that this is precisely because for long spells at a time, I don't get the chance to.
Come Saturday morning when we both find ourselves at home and conscious at the same time, I will be like a little kid at Christmas time, bursting with excitement and tall stories about the week that was, without him.
The small grumbles that all working people bring home daily are forgotten in the weekly round-up.
Better still, we have both had time on our own to indulge in the sorts of things that when together become unquestionably annoying.
Guitar Hero has blasted out of the PlayStation when I've been too far away to hear it, and New Zealand's Next Top Model has been on the TV when my boyfriend is not there to see it.
After a year living together, I will happily admit that I often miss my other half, both literally and figuratively, but I also have learned that sometimes, the only thing worse than not living with someone at all, is living with them all the time.