I'm seriously pathetic, because one week without Jonathan and I'm feeling like my right arm has been cut off. This is probably due to the fact that he does a lot of work and makes a lot of things happen in my life. You know, all the important stuff like cooking and loading the dishwasher. Also, he knows all things that you could possibly want to know, such as legal advice and how water fountains work.
Early on in the time off from each other my approach to life is optimistic. I look forward to taking this time to do things that I ordinarily would not do when he's at home. Some of those activities include watching a dorky tv series, or staying up late, or eating fake food (such as anything off of the menu from McDonalds), all of which would most certainly result in deep sighs, eye-rolling, and disapproving remarks coming from the general direction of Jonathan's body.
However, about mid-week, I am starting to feel a slight ache approximately in the center of my chest, roundabouts where my heart would be located if I admitted to having one or feelings or any of the fru fru girly stuff. At this point, I am finding myself fantasizing about how I would survive on my own say if I had a flat tire or if my iPod broke or if I had to figure out how to cook all that meat in my freezer or mainly anything having to do with mechanical stuff or cooking. I frequently give myself pep talks.
By the end of the week I am considering life on my own and trying to be optimistic about it like the fact that if I were on my own that I could finally have a cat and how wonderful it would be. However, this leads me to compare in my mind the value of a cat versus the value of Jonathan and that he is gone from me forever and there is nothing I can do to get him back and now I am doing everything possible not to run weeping from my cubical for the death and loss of my beloved Jonathan. I tell myself not to be silly, but it is too late. Off and on I find myself angry at him because he is gone, and it is his fault whenever things go wrong, like the fact that I took that wrong turn or ordered a chicken gordita when I really wanted a steak chalupa with extra sour cream.
In the last hours of my solitude I am brimming with excitement because I know that I will soon get to see him and I feel as if he will be back from the dead. Again, I tell myself not to be silly. Occasionally, I panic because I have not gotten to finish my dorky mini series and still have a couple of chicken patties left. But mostly I just make a mental list of all the things I am going to do to make him pay--er--let him know how much I missed him.
However, when he walks through the door I am suddenly shy and decide to be aloof and deny myself the acknowledgment that I could actually be so silly with anticipation. I busy myself with being self important and tell him everything that he needs to catch back up on things such as the finances and other business related topics, all delivered in a professional tone. Inside I am wondering if he noticed that I mopped the kitchen floor and how sparkly it is. I fight the compulsion to tell him random attention seeking comments, like it was a close call the other day when my blood sugar dropped, and that I used my coupon to get 2 Arby's subs for 5$. Instead I am suddenly quiet because I have run out of informative things to say.
He asks me if I am okay. I say that I'm fine and that I just don't know how to be around him right now because he has been gone for such a long time. I mentally remind myself that it was just one week. My face reddens. He gives me a hug and tells me that he missed me. I decide that its okay to be a little more open and tell him that I missed him too...sort of. He smiles and knows the truth and that I am being conservative.
I am relieved that I don't actually have to say it, but I tell him anyway, that I actually missed him a lot.