All By Myself . . .

I hate that I’m hardly ever one here. I really do, but, gosh and golly, there’s just not much to tell. The highlight of my days has become one of my cats deciding to snuggle. Weekends are highlighted by Chris coming home from his training down south. I have discovered that, despite being an introvert, I do not do well on my own—without someone in my life to take care of, I disintegrate into a being with no motivation whatsoever.

My house is messy. Who cares? No one sees it but me—I’ll clean eventually.
I haven’t cooked in days. Who cares? That’s what salads are for.
I go in late to work and stay late. Who cares? It’s not like anyone’s waiting. . . . . except the dog . . . I suppose I’ll go home for the dog.
My make-up and hair routine are minimalist, my wardrobe lacks creativity, and I have no desire to change any of it. Except working out . . . I have lots of motivation to do that . . . and bathing . . . I’m a showering fanatic . . . so not all is lost.

The point is that I need someone to nurture and to remind me to take care of myself. How do I know this? Because when Chris IS home, I turn into a cooking/baking maniac. I spend half my weekend in the kitchen, whipping up some new meal and then mixing up some sweet for him to take with him back to work. In January, he will begin his training in Cali . . . but I will be here . . . probably until March . . . and I will very likely be unemployed as the temp job only goes until December . . . I think . . . so, if New Years rolls around I don’t suddenly reappear as an impassioned creative genius or June Cleaver after a week, send help. I’ve fallen into mountains of laundry and misery and can’t get out.

To top off the five-days-a-week-of-loneliness, the move looms nearer . . .

As the holidays arrive, I realize that this is one of those “last” holiday seasons. Not the final, no, but the last “normal ones.”
The last group of holidays where we schedule “Ok, if we hurry, we can be at Aunt Sandy’s by one to make lunch and then drive like bats of out hell to make your grandma’s for dinner by five.”
The last group of holidays where we see my siblings in plays or I exchange recipes with his.
The last group of holidays where we have double of everything . . . and then us.
The last group of holidays where our days are filled with the buzz, rush, hugs, and chatter of relatives, siblings, and parents.

Next year, we’re on our own. This could mean that we make friends and share parties with them, that we make our own traditions and just be us. Or . . . it could mean we’re alone, bored, and depressed, the pile of wrapping paper a mockery and turkey sandwiches instead of a feast.

I didn’t feel the finality of it all until Halloween, the beginning of the end . . . . I didn’t do the whole Trick-or-Treat thing growing up. Instead, every Halloween, we went out to dinner with friends and then went putt-putt golfing. Halloween was one of my favorite holidays because we always had such a blast despite my lack of any-form-of-sport skills. To say that I am no master at putt-putt is a devastating understatement. In high school, I made 16 OVER par, once . . . and it was probably closer to 25 except we got tired of counting. When Chris and I got married, we continued to putt-putt with my folks on All Hallow’s Eve.

This year, Chris was out of town and I was bogged down with work. Normally, this would be disappointing, but not depressing. I mean, there’s always next year, and – oh . . . no, there’s not . . . ah, crap . . . there’s not any more . . .

I spent the day in my cubicle contemplating the meaning of existence because I couldn’t hit tiny, bright balls through a miniature obstacle course.
Because it was a last.

And I couldn’t make it.

Chris and I are not regretting our decision to move away. We both think we need it, in a way, that this is an adventure we were meant for, but that doesn’t make it easy. Once you get over the thrill of the change, once you realize that there are things you can’t do and people you can’t see . . . you’re sad. Excited about new adventures but so very bittersweet.

So bear with me if I’m a bizarre rollercoaster of “OMG YAY MOVING!!! HOLIDAYS!!! LOVE HASJDKAHSDHKSDHAKHDKSA!!!!!" and “This is it . . . it’s over . . . the end . . . there’s no point any more . . . I’m going to wallow in the agony and futility of all existence, now . . .”  . . .
It comes with my tendency to over-feels--but-bury-feels-then-explode-with-feels . . . I don't know if you really get used to it . . .

"Oooooh yay! Santa got me a boy for Christmas!"
Christmas 2006--this was our first Christmas as a "couple" and the month Chris moved back to Florida from Idaho so he could be closer to family . . . and me . . . despite my being in Mississippi for school . . .
P.S. One of my all time favorite pictures. It just sums "us" up perfectly.

Beyond that . . . . anyone else nervous about the election??? I mean, yay for the freedom to elect whoever we like, but the suspense is killing me . . . I might explode Tuesday night from massive suspense overload.