Gone (but Returning To Me)

So, I knew the Boyfriend had to fly to Chicago this weekend for a business thing and that he’d be gone until Wednesday. Short trip, no stress for me, just a little down time to relax and be alone at home while he gets to visit that amazing city and have absolutely no fun because he’ll be working his fine ass off most of the time.

So, this morning we get up, shower, get dressed, load his shit up in the car, and drive him to the local airport. No problem. We check in his bag and I walk him to the security checkpoint and then he goes to Chicago and I go home. I’m out of the airport and make a quick stop at the drugstore and the grocery and still make it home at almost exactly noon.

And then I’m lost.

I hate to sound whiney and co-dependent, because that’s not what this is about. There is just a space that he normally fills here, and he’s suddenly not here, he’s there, he’s gone and I feel completely adrift.

I got all my little weekend chores done, and lunch made to take to work next week, and breakfast ready for me in the fridge, and I’ve looked at all the online peenie I can stand, and it’s only been four and one-half hours and I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to do with myself for the rest of the evening, much less the next few days.

He’s Gone. I Hate It When He’s Gone. But I know he’s coming back to me, so it’s not tragic or awful. Just a little empty feeling in my gut and in my brain and in my bed. It’s a valid feeling, and therefore it’s important, but it’s vaguely unpleasant and hard for me to deal with in a reasonable manner.

I can do anything I want. But I’m not going to suddenly drive to Colorado for a smoke feast, or drive to New Orleans for gumbo, or do much of anything out of the ordinary except be here, alone, for a few days. It’s certainly not a bad thing. It’s just a thing. A Love Thing.

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