One of the things that sucks about his being gone is that I think about what we might be doing at this moment if he were here. I can see him on the computer perusing a forum of sort, and I’d probably be lying on the floor next to the coffee table watching the My Fair Brady season finale (because I am a hardcore Vh1 junkie). I have a craving for some coffee, but since I have to work tomorrow and we would have been out and about earlier today, we would skip the Starbucks and he would grind some Java City roast that he bought with his excess Plus dollars last semester. We’d be talking about my going back to work tomorrow and what the schedule was looking like. We’d look through the list of Titans that were giving autographs next week and decide which days we wanted to go (they’re at the Peay for training camp this year). I’d probably ask him to take a nice, hot bubble bath with me, and he’d do it even though he doesn’t like baths, because he loves me enough to realize that I’m saying goodbye to my summer, to our summer, and that it’s not really about the bath at all.
Him doing his thing, me doing mine, interacting in little bits here and there.
It doesn’t sound like much, but these are the things I love about my life. It’s also why tonight makes me sad. I’m watching the finale by myself, I’m terrible at making coffee and don’t even want to attempt it, and the bubble bath sounds like too much effort if it’s going to be a solo endeavor. I emailed him the list of Titans. He probably won’t even be able to check it before he gets back, but it was worth a shot. Emails provide the illusion of talking to him. He’ll call soon, but it’s always over far too soon.
On a positive note, the Geico commercial with Little Richard makes me laugh.
My husband is going up in a helicopter, AGAIN, tomorrow morning to take aerial shots of some stupid training mission. He was in one a couple of days ago, and I was disconcerted when he told me about that event after the fact. To tell me ahead of time that he’s going again is just unwise.
This is why I said I would not marry into the military. I’m not sound enough to deal with this. Yes, I understand that the likelihood of anything happening to that helicopter is slim, but that tiny sliver of doubt is still there. I’ve seen too many news clips and 60 Minutes specials. He’s supposed to be a journalist in the Army Reserve. Journalists do not need to be zooming around in choppers. Journalists sit at desks and write stories, right? Right?
So until I get his text saying that the mission was a success, I will be on edge, pissed off that the Army is so damn stupid and even more pissed that there’s nothing anyone can do about it. My anger will be a cover for my fear, which is really the reason my insides are churning. I need him to come home to me.
I want this to all go over smoothly so everyone can laugh at me and joke about how ridiculous I was being over the whole situation. You’re so hypersensitive; you were being such a nutcase; I told you so. ‘I told you so’ sounds like perfection.
