Stranger things are happening

I figured it would be so easy. Actually, I thought it would be what would make us work and last. When my commitment phobia kicked in, he’d be about to board a plane to some godforsaken tundra or war torn country for 1 to 3 months, and I’d have my single life and my empty couch back. All for just me. And all just about me.

Bluddy hell, but it has not been like that in the slightest way. I am missing the guy. And the extent of it doesn’t feel healthy, at all. And every moment is definitely not about me. Even that damn couch feels lonely.

My mom laughs. My gran’s cousin laughs. “Back in my day….”. Back in their days, one would have to wait for the postal ship to get between continents (or something). The other would have to wait for the postal plane to land and take off between continents.

I felt like I was losing the plot when he left cellphone signal. Now, for the past several weeks, I hold out for the phone call every few days at bizarre time-zoned hours or an email of a few lines saying he still has all appendages & he is too exhausted to type much more after twelve hours in minus 30 degrees, can I forgive him, long email to follow soon, he misses me.

I’ve read a book he left with me that details the life of his profession. I’ve tapped my foot and walked in circles. I’ve fallen asleep and woken up thinking about him. I send a daily email with news, “Zim is fucked. Eskom is fucked. I am off to the hubby’s home for him to make me dinner and drink champagne and talk about you, probably. I miss you. Do you still have all your appendages? 1000 smooches.” And this is a short working trip. Can you imagine when it is three months.

Who would have thought. Not me, that’s for damn sure. I never realised I could miss someone like this! And I feel a distressing lack of control. Because, as difficult and strange and crazy as it is, I ain’t giving it up.

So bizarre.

Meanwhile… Between 20somethingblogging networks, and SAblogger networks, WISDOM OF WHORES... about HIV (or science rather) and sex, and now being a writer of “my Rosebank”, the blog world seems to be having a few months of exploding again.

And ALL THE BEST to our darling Zim for tomorrow!

If this doesn’t make sense, it’s not me, it’s the hubby’s wine of last night refusing to realise the party’s been over for many hours now.