For the week, that is. He left last evening and will be home Thursday evening. Actually a very cool week of new work activities in Seattle -- working with the catering company that drives our food and supplies up to the doors of our aircraft and delivers them....streamlining the process. Really neat stuff. Nonetheless, I'm sorting through this mounting feeling of not liking him to be gone. And me not liking to be gone, either. I like us to be here. Together. At home. And I haven't always been this way. There was a day when I actually enjoyed being gone, for a break....to gain perspective. I mean, hey, we're both flight attendants. And that does involve travel in case you didn't know already.
I actually get a bit anxious over it. Nothing major. Just more sad or depressed, sort of. Weird for me. Perhaps its age. Perhaps its recentering and recognizing what is important in life and what is not. And I'm better this morning. Mason and I will be home all week by ourselves. I have several days off with nothing to do. And I do enjoy those sort of times. But there's just something about he and I being separated when big, monumental things happen like tsunamis or earthquakes or giant storms or airplanes crash. You know, those sort of little things. It makes me want to draw close to home. For safety or security reasons, I guess. I could go out to eat with friends, or the gym, or take a walk, or go to a movie, or go to one of Portland's million cool places for a drink or chat....but it just sort of rings hollow sometimes.
I used to treasure my time away. Enjoy it. Look forward to it. For a bit of breathing room, for space, for perspective. And I still do. But I'm really over it in many ways. Over being gone, over being in hotel rooms, over dressing up in blue polyester and disappearing on trips for days on end. Over eating in restaurants. I like home. And I like being home. And I like him being home. I think I'm getting old.