I’ve definitely been in a funk for the past couple of months. I think, in part, that’s why I didn’t write a whole lot. I remember being younger writing long, emo, locked down blog posts when I was feeling depressed, and I didn’t particularly want that sort of attention this time, but I also didn’t feel like writing about anything else.
So I didn’t write. Maturity? Maybe. I’m not sure.
Anyway, C was gone for 6 weeks. I did get to visit him for a few short days in New Orleans (which was divine … I think I’m in love with that city), but aside from that, it was a long time to be without a loved one. I’m not sure if it was the length of time, the time of year, the things happening at my office in conjunction with his absence, the fact that we’re newly married, or a combination of all of these things, but I took his absence really hard this time around. What’s worse is, I hated admitting that I was in a funk because I missed my husband.
My boss told me, the other day, that my husband being home was good for me. “You have a spring in your step,” she said. It’s true; I DO feel better. Of course, part of me wanted to explain it away – the major legwork for the layoffs is done; I’ve been drinking more coffee lately, which is giving me some better energy (but not overdoing it, I’ll add); Christmas is coming and most of my shopping and wrapping is done; etc.
But, the truth is, I missed my husband. And now he’s home. And that makes me happy.
It would be easy if I could be like our dog, Finnegan. When C walked through the door, Finnegan lept onto the couch and then tried to climb OVER the couch in order to get to C as quickly as he could. His tail wagged so hard I thought it might fall off. It was pure, blissful happiness. His best friend was home, after being gone for a long time, and he couldn’t express enough how happy this made him.
So, then, why is it so hard for me to express my absolute joy that MY best friend was home? Because it makes me look weak? Like I can’t be alone? It’s ridiculous, and I know that, because I know that I have no problem being alone. And yet … I still felt a small level of shame that his being gone made me sad, and his being home made me happy.