so, jesse is gone for the week. the whole week.
i know whining like this seems pathetic (because it really is), but let me explain. he was gone all last week. and i saw him for about two hours this weekend because of family commitments and my recent fondness of napping. he keeps going to boise to finish his mandatory free labor for school.
but see, jesse leaves with the sun shining, and no less than three hours later, i hear the wind howling and the rain coming in. coincidence? i beg to differ.
if i could have heard myself five years ago, this kind of whiny behavior would have been baffling. some more potentially offensive (but recently occurring) clingy behavior might include:
- refusing to sleep in our new place until jesse can stay there with me. sure, there are creepy crafts crowding each room, and the place is really fit for senior citizens, but still. i simply refuse to stay at the place with my belongings and where i am paying rent until the husband can be there. i am surprised my parents haven't forcibly removed me from their basement.
- retiring to bed around 9:30 because i don't want to do anything else. i seriously got out of bed to write this post. i haven't been in bed that early since elementary school.
- talking about jesse so much that all my co-workers couldn't possibly handle another tale.
- sending approximately ten text messages an hour or calling if i haven't heard from the man in more than three hours. when i approach the three-hour mark, i tend to assume there has been a horrific accident. then each unreturned communication increases certainty that i have become a tragically young widow, and the volume of calls exponentially increases. it's a wonder he takes any of my calls.
so this could be indicative of a few things. it could be that i desperately need friends. or it could be a testament of the fact that i continue to fall more in love with him everyday.
it's probably both. but for sentiment's sake, i'm going with the second option.
jesse, i miss you. call me when you get to boise. or now.
