It’s that time of night again, and I’m sitting here thinking how crazy I am.
We’re nearing the end of this little hiccup of time without husband… but I still feel as lonely for him as ever. It seems like I should simply be constantly giddy that soon I’ll be able to count on two hands the number of days we have til he’s in our arms again.
I am so grateful for that. I am.
But I still want him now.
I should be putting the house back together bit by bit, but I’m in my stress-induced shut-down mode. And I want to ignore it.
We’re so close I can almost taste it, but the aloneness of it still gets me down. The oldness of it still wears me out.
And I think that the reality of it hasn’t set in. It’s part of the residual numbness. I won’t believe he’s coming home til he’s standing in my living room. So a part of me can’t get busy being excited because it can’t process the thought that there is something to be excited about.
Course it could be that it’s that time of night and I tend to get a little out of sorts when I need to be sleeping.
Aren’t I just the biggest whiner you ever did meet?
Yeah I know.
We’re almost done! Yay!