I originally set up a separate blog for bitching and moaning about the little things that get on my nerves, but I decided that doing so isn't really authentic, so it's all gonna hang out here.
My husband is traveling for work again this week. I find it bitterly amusing that when I was growing up, I swore I'd never marry anyone in the military, the police, or who traveled for work. Not that I equate missing my husband during the week to wondering if he'll be killed on the job. I just always planned to marry someone who would be home with me the majority of the time. The concept of a husband who goes on frequent "business trips" was always synonymous in my mind with a cheater who didn't want to be at home. Yes, I've read too many trashy novels and watched too much daytime television. But I thought I'd NEVER be with someone who was gone so much. And look at me.
I think the worst part is that although I miss him insanely when he's gone, I have to admit that it's *nice* to have my own space every once in a while, in the comfort of my own home. How fucked up is that?!? Not that I've ever wanted to be codependent (though I suspect I have those tendencies), but it feels wrong to heave that little sigh of relief on those Monday mornings when he heads out. I'm a hermit at heart, which is part of it. And I love to keep my odd hours and do things when they strike me, which (for good reason) can drive him a little bonkers. So it's nice to have the house and critters to myself. I don't have to hear him chastise the cats for getting on the counter/table/tv/etc. (which I give them free reign to do), or complain about things piling up b/c I can only do housework in my weird OCD way. I can let the ferrets run around in rooms they're not "supposed" to, and fall asleep on the couch while they still have run of a good portion of the house.
It's also SO nice to feel so excited about him coming home. It's almost like in college, when he could only visit me on the weekends. We're by no means tired of each other (not sure that's even possible for us), but that anticipation and then pure joy when he walks in the door, that first hug and kiss and holding tight like we'll never let go again... I almost fall in love with him all over again that first time I look in his eyes after being apart for so long. Jesus, this is sounding lame. What am I, 13? But it's absolutely true, and I'm having a hard time reconciling with the idea that I'm ok with him traveling for work, when I fought the idea for so long.
Why don't I ever know how to end things I write? I've always been good at non-fiction writing, except for conclusions. I think I need a tagline... If anyone can suggest an alternative (and don't mind me using is) I'm certainly open, but here it is:
If you hear from me again, then I guess I'm not dead yet.