I miss my family.
I apologize if this week’s episode is a little less than coherent, I’m a little flustered. James stopped by the house just as I was sitting down to write this. I didn’t expect me to be awake but I haven’t been sleeping. I didn’t tell him that, thanks to my shameful pride, but it might not have mattered. He only came to get more clothes and a few other essentials. It seems we’ll be separated for even longer.
He looked good. I mean he always looks good but he’s been sleeping and taking care of himself like being apart hasn’t fazed him. It’s fazed me. With the exception of these past few months, James and I have shared a bed every night for eight years. Being without him and not knowing when or if he’ll return is making me uncomfortable in my own bedroom. That shouldn’t happen. Everything in it is only half mine. The rest is his.
The sheets, the curtains, the pillows: we bought them together. One partner didn’t go shopping on behalf of the other, we bought them together; as a couple should. We went on this spree when we first got married. We were renting from James' parents and we didn’t want anyone to make decisions for us – as rebellious late-20s, early-30s are wont to do – so we sold all of the gifts we received at the wedding and went on a huge shopping spree of appliances and furniture. We were lost for days in that store, but we loved every minute of it and in the end, we found items that we could both love. And now they’re sitting in our bedroom, taunting me.
I fear divorce, I do. I don’t know what he needs form me and I wish he would tell me. I just need to fix it. I need my family back together – or as best as I can manage.
I had more things to talk about but I can’t think of it. A five minute conversation with my husband has completely drained my energy. I wish I could head back to bed but I’m awake now, more than ever. Might as well get ready for work. I have very little else going for me at the moment.