But anyway, Brett's journaling. (Once he lands in Haiti, communication will be limited to one email per day.) And I gallantly offered to do the same...before I remembered how much I HATE "old fashioned" journaling. I can't be slowed down by pesky things like pens and paper. So, I'm gonna do some of this here... and since there are like, three people out there that actually read my blog, I figured it's about as private as anything else.
So he's been gone less than 12 hours, and I've already had my first, "I don't need no man to be my hero" moment: This afternoon, there was a spider and he (by the way, spiders are always male.) was super big.... think, pingpong ball... no, tennis ball... no, BASEBALL... size. And he was furry with mean, spindly lookin' legs. We locked eyes from across the room and instinctively, I grabbed the box of tissues sitting on the counter. I removed the remaining kleenex (it's allergy season and I'm all, "waste not, want not," ya know) and I charged. He saw me comin' (all one hundred of me!) and made a run for it. He dipped behind a curtain and I felt satisfied, figuring I'd probably scared him good enough that he was telling all is little spindly-legged friends about me... and went about my business.
Then, a few hours later... he reappeared! I mean, the nerve, right!? Again, our eyes locked. This time, I reached for the camera. (Doesn't everyone?) And the empty Pringles tube. (What can I say, I'm lonely and a comfort-eater.)
Again, I charged. Was he ever feisty! Dodging this way and that, trying to find refuge in the sunlight... he put up a significant fight. But alas, I captured his sorry arachnid a#$ and sealed him away in his sour-cream-and-onion tomb.
I feel a little bit like Lara Croft. Like Lara Croft, with sour-cream-and onion breath. And I like it!
I'll miss my husband... but it won't be because I need him. It'll be because his company makes me happy, he laughs at my jokes, he makes sure my hands get lotion each night, and most of all... because he smells better than my dog.