That was a long sentence.
This is a new fear of mine apparently. I triple lock everything and then play music loudly when I am home alone because if it is going to happen, I don't want to know about it until the last possible second. This is totally logical.
Anyway, because I am going on two days of no sleep I had a moment today when I was looking down at my feet and realized with horror that my BABY TOE was missing. I actually went through this thought process: "Did it come off in the shower? I didn't even FEEL it! Maybe I have an extremely high tolerance for pain! Oh my GOD MY TOE IS GONE AND I DO NOT KNOW WHERE THE LOCAL HOSPITAL IS." At this point I realized my toe was actually still there. I was having a fatigue induced hallucination, a hallucination that I calmly recounted for a friend today. I realized I had made a good choice in her friendship when she just nodded through the story and said between bites of cheese: "God. I hate when that happens."
Fatigue aside I was more social today. I invited said friend over for wine and cheese, but we mainly just ate a block of cheese and ignored the wine. I walked to the grocery store. It took 45 minutes and I had welts on my arms from the heavy shopping bags, but it got me out of the house, took my mind off of my missing toe and forced me to act like an adult. I came home and stared at my fish for only 1 hour, and felt pretty proud of myself that I was not in the fetal position in the closet over my sadness that Brett is gone for awhile. It is so funny how I try to fill my time now. before, it was always stuff with Brett. Now I find myself thinking, "If I walk to the bathroom really slowly AND stop for a glass of water on the way, I will take up about 5 minutes." I was really giddy when I encountered a line at the bathroom on campus because it gave me 10 minutes to smile awkwardly at the girls in front of me and try to make friends. I only succeeded in creeping out every one, but DAMNIT I AM TRYING.
A good friend came over the other day and was walking around the apartment, checking out my little home. She poked her head in to the "bedroom" (really just a twin bed hidden by a screen,) and cooed: "Ohhh...you have such a sad and small little bed." I then looked at her and said: "Yes. There are a lot of depressing things about the studio. Want to walk around with me and point them out?" It sounds like this was a mean exchange, but it was funny. We laughed over the bed and then she suggested that to help with my distance-anxiety I should take up a craft hobby involving Popsicle sticks. It was okay to talk about it. We could embrace my sadness and even laugh about it. She was allowing me to wallow and be selfish and talk about Brett every 5 seconds. And then she pointed out my depressing bed...and we could laugh.
As my cheese friend was leaving today and I walked her to the door, we both noticed I had just received a flower delivery. She poked me excitedly. "Oooh! I wonder who these are from! He really loves you!" I smiled and read the card, seeing that my girlfriend in Seattle had sent them with a few words of encouragement. Even though I missed my husband so badly, it was so much better to get these flowers from a friend. Because that is what we need in life, right? A foundation of friends to support you, eat a block of cheese with you with a butter knife, make fun of your sad-assed bed, and sit up with you at night on the phone. My marriage is my biggest blessing in life, but it is enhanced with this gorgeous, colorful, calorie-loaded support system.
I'm a lucky girl.