My husband is going to Cancún in April and I’m not going with him. And he’ll be gone on my birthday. And I’ll be home alone with the kids and the dogs (and the cats, too, I suppose) for a week and I’ll likely go crazy. Poor me.
His company staff meeting is in Cancún this year. I knew that was a possibility, but there was also a possibility it would be in Sweden, and I was hoping it would be here rather than there. Spouses aren’t being included this year, so I won’t be going along. That doesn’t bother me too much, as resort-y places have never appealed much to me, but it does bother me that he’ll be gone for so long. I know I’m a big baby, but we’ve never been apart for that long and I really and truly hate being without him. The days just drag by endlessly, even if I keep myself occupied, and it’s no fun trying to keep up with all the kids and pets and this great big house all by myself. If the meeting were in Sweden, he would be gone only for four days, but since there’s so much travel time involved, it will be a week. I’m already dreading it. I have to get my driver’s license before then so that I’m not trapped out here. If I can drive, at least I can go to town and spend all his hard-earned money while he’s away.
I suppose that’s as good a segue as any to something I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately. I know it should be self-evident, but I’ve just realized in the past couple of months that I am happily married. Very happily married. I mean, I never thought I was unhappily married, but I just never gave it much consideration. Olof and I never fight, and we don’t even seriously disagree very often. We respect each other and treat each other considerately, and for the most part things run very smoothly and very peacefully around here. Last time I was married, I was acutely aware nearly every minute of every day that I was in an excruciatingly miserable marriage. There aren’t words strong enough for me to describe how horrible that situation was, and this isn’t about that anyway, so I don’t want to get into it. I’ve always known that this is immeasurably better than that, but somehow I never really considered how I felt with any real depth. Just “not miserable” was good enough for me, I suppose.**
Anyway, these days I am acutely aware nearly every minute of every day that I am truly, madly, crazy in love with my husband and I feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have him in my life. This life with this man is all I have ever wanted, and I am so amazed that I am actually living it. Wow.
**It just occurred to me when I was typing that paragraph up there, that I’ve been having these new feelings and realizations since I started taking Zoloft in October. I can’t believe how many things seem different since anti-depressants entered my life. The other day I was talking to my mom about some problems I’d been having before with some people in my life and said that things had been looking up recently and that “they’re nicer to me lately.” Then, again, I realized that they got “nicer” right about the time I started taking Zoloft. I’ve had so many “epiphanies” like that in the past several weeks. This drug has turned my life around.
Okay, enough of that sappy, sentimental rot …