husbandless

This week, I have been husbandless. While I've been working and doing normal working / cooking / sleeping things, he's been off in Panama, diving and exploring in the sunshine.

(I can write this now because Jeremy gets home tonight so any would be breaker-inners needn't bother, I have my man back to protect me. haha.)

Before he went away, I was looking forward to it. I go away / work late or on Saturdays fairly regularly so Jeremy often gets time on his own in the house. Me, not so much. I envisaged this week laid out before me as a stretch of time where I could make my own choices on what I ate/ what I watched on TV; where I could come home and write without thinking about making dinner or hanging out with Jeremy.

(I should say, he doesn't expect me to cook every night or push me to eat certain things or hang out or anything, but things are different, together.)

Anyway, the point is I had all these plans and I expected to feel free somehow I guess - free to do what I wanted, to have that space of solitude that is only fully real when you're alone - when there's no one to know you're still in PJs at 2pm or that you mostly had ice cream for dinner.

Needless to say, I missed him within 8 hours of him being gone. 24 hours later I was calling friends and booking in sleepovers so that I wouldn't have to be alone in the house all week - not so much for the fear of being alone as much as the emptiness of it. Time passed slower without him, and not in a good way.

I missed his constant singing / tapping / general noise-making. I missed his hugs and his jokes; I missed laughing and snuggling; I missed him remembering to take the trash out.

On the flip side, my house is full of flowers I bought to keep me company, and a few other purchases too...shhhh