I was walking back to the office after lunch with my friend Dorothy. The sun was shining and it was a lovely afternoon. And I turned to her and exclaimed, “I came to work today! And I sat at my desk for three hours! I should totally get an award. And then go home.”
Because yes, it does feel like a major accomplishment. I didn’t get an award, and I stayed. I stayed late. I left at 6, which I am no longer classifying as normal, because I am attempting to have a healthy attitude about work. I stayed because there were things to do and … it occurred to me that it didn’t matter how late I stayed. I could stay all night. At least I would be doing something productive instead of skulking about my house in my bathrobe.
But I came home. I made a fried egg sandwich and ate it while reading Entertainment Weekly (subtitle: The magazine you read while you’re doing something else!”). And I’m doing laundry.
These are things I know to be true:
- Being alone is not reason to be a workaholic.
- However I chose to spend my time is worthwhile.
- I am worthwhile.
- Work is not the only option.
- I am so lonely I could spit.
But it’s a weird lonely. It’s a “please don’t call me and expect me to talk to you” lonely. It’s an introspective lonely, a lonely that pines away for one particular person. And it’s also a “This is my very first day back at work and therefore my very first post-work night post-Mr. Wonderful” lonely.
I’m getting my Halloween costume ready – I’m going to be a tattoo artist. And I am making a list of things I want in my life. And I’m reading a book about work / life balance – a post-break-up gift from Mr. Wonderful (I know … ).
So it’s not like I’m in the fetal position, rocking and moaning. But I am … sad. I’m just sad. One of my dear friends said today she’s waiting for me to be mad. Not now. I was mad yesterday. And then it was gone, and I just missed him so much it hurt.