Things I hate about the days my husband is on the road:
Thing the first, I hate the feeling when I go to say something to him and ask the empty seat on the couch what it wants for dinner.
Thing the second, the morning of the day he returns home. The focus of my thoughts are all excitement and giddiness. A nest of hornets warring with a family of rabid badgers has less chaos than my brain.
Thing the third, getting to and out of bed on time. Sure there’s freedom in the knowledge that I’m the only person in the house but the charm wears off pretty fast. What I’m lacking is internalized structure, which I’m only able to maintain by relying on the steady rhythm of my husband.
When he is traveling, the schedule, not to mention my eating schedule and general nutrition, goes right out the window. I spend the first day on my own hopped up on energy drinks and snacks. I basically have the diet of a twelve year old. Then, because of all the caffeine, I go to bed late the second night and wake up even groggier.
God help me if he’s on the road longer than that, because by then I will spiral into an energy drink spiral until I begin humming and flitting about like a hummingbird. My eyes are all buggy and sunken in, I’ve not had a square meal in days. Cheetos crumbs wedged under my fingernails and queso dip in my hair, I resemble a fully grown toddler. But one with a driver’s license and disposable income.
It’s not that I’m not capable of standard upkeep, I just stop caring when he’s gone. It’s like all the color is sucked out of the world. Sappy, yes. Pathetic, possibly. But for me, I’ve got a brightness in my life when he’s around, and that’s a feeling you miss when it’s gone.