I'm starting to worry more and more that I'm on the verge of descending into a Miss Havisham fit, wriggling into my wedding dress and not taking it off until Mr. Wonderful comes home from London. I'll waltz around our house with a glass of warm chardonnay in my hand and mascara streaks down my cheeks, lamenting my lost love.
When he first found out he had to go back, I thought it would be less than 7 weeks; that he'd return by Labor Day. But now it may be closer to 8 1/2. And when you're on the brink of Havishaming, every day counts.
I find myself trying to quantify the time in smaller increments. It's only 4-5 more trash days. 3 or 4 Sunday dinners. 2 paychecks.
But oh how the days drag on...
It's not that I'm not keeping busy. I've jam-packed my social calendar. I have chores and hobbies up the wazoo. But no matter how many hours I spend with Etsy creations, blogging, running, girls' nights or family meetups, the clock still seems to be moving at a snail's pace.
And as my friend GeekHiker recently pointed out, sometimes you end up feeling MORE lonely when you're around other people. A night of solitude in front of the TV feels like a choice. It's easier to rationalize. But when you're alone and other people are around, you miss YOUR people. It's like the difference between them and your person is amplified and makes you feel the absence ten times more intensely.
I guess like training for a race, I just have to keep running through the pain. Just keep on going and try not to count the miles or minutes.
In the meantime, I'm going to go slip into my wedding gown and smear my lipstick a little. Just to see if insanity feels better than the missing.