My Guy left yesterday for a convention. He has to go every year, and every year, it’s over his birthday. Ick. He’ll be gone until Thursday.
I was really sad to see him go. I was surprised at how sad I was.
Let’s be honest: My Guy is a kind, funny, wonderful man. But sometimes he makes me crazy. Like how our bathroom mirror is in a constant state of greasy smudgetasticness because he wipes condensation off with his dirty t-shirts. Because boys are dumb.
So, I should be excited to have almost a week of clean bathroom mirrors and time to do whatever I want.
While I was tooling around Target yesterday, I realized I was in no rush to get home … and no one was waiting for me. And then I remembered that it used to be like this all the time.
I lived alone, and I was alone a lot. That sort of solitude helps you figure yourself out. But it’s also really, well, lonely.
I miss my husband. Which, I guess, means that I’ve overcome one of my fears about getting married: being dependent upon someone else.
Don’t get me wrong: I am managing to function in My Guy’s absence. So, like, when Lady Doodle decided that the alpha was gone and so she’d make a play for the position, and growled and barked and was mean to the other dogs, prompting Foxie Doxie to conveniently and oh-so-logically stake his claim by peeing on my bed a 12:45 this morning? I was able to deal with it. And by “deal,” I of course mean “go completely ballistic.”
But really? Things are just easier when the entire pack is together. That means Mr. Wiping-the-Mirror-With-T-Shirt Guy, too.
Plus? I just miss my friend.