It is the middle of the morning and I'm in the studio looking at the mess that is my desk. I should be working. I should be firing, and sorting papers, and, and, and... But I just instant-messaged my spouse to share a funny with him, and it hit home that I won't see him tonight, or tomorrow, or at all for two more weeks. Two weeks isn't so long, I know. But it's already been 100 and a half hours since I saw him. 6,035 minutes since I hugged him. 362,100 seconds since he kissed me goodbye in the hotel parking lot in Dallas and headed off in his Mini Cooper for Austin.
The things that I was so afraid were going to be impossible have been almost trivially easy--thanks in large part to Jessie, my very helpful little angel. I am on top of all the tasks I normally manage--my business, the tax papers, the finances, etc.,--and I have neatly folded in the groceries, the cooking, the cleaning, the laundry, and the care and feeding of the J (including nightly reading, baths and transporting to and from school). I even have playdates and sleepovers planned.
But the things I thought I could handle--the temporary separation, the sleeping and waking alone--those have been really tough. The days are not so bad. J and I follow a schedule (how else would we get everything done?), we do our chores, we share life and cuddle. But at night, when I sleep, my non-rational mind takes over. It rears up and cries, "Why can't I have my spouse snuggled next to me?" And I dream dreams of loss. I need to stop listening to my melancholy playlist (these are the songs that were playing as I wrote this post), put on my big girl panties, and just deal with it. But he should know how much I miss him.