angst exchange

My husband and I seem to have swapped moods. He's starting to chill out, coming down to his last weekend in California. I, for some reason, am freaking out. What if the furniture truck really can't pull up to our loading dock at the end of that narrow road? Where the hell am I going to arrange for my car to be dropped off? What if my husband arrives at the apartment, decides it's too noisy, and hates it? Hates being here? Hates this whole effort? Thinks I shouldn't have transferred? Blames me?

He'd have every right to, poor guy.

Some days are good days: kickass classes, promising career prospects, a school where I finally feel like I belong. But some days I feel as though I've taken a good thing -- a comfortable apartment in California, mild weather, my husband happily commuting less than a mile to his office -- and thrown it away, screwed everything up.

I think this is the end of the line: after two months of bouncing around the country like an uber-perky ping pong ball, I'm finally running out of gas. I'm getting damn near the limit of my tolerance for hotel rooms, suitcases, and things called "home" that are empty and echoing where I still leave guilty footprints in the carpet. I miss my husband. I miss my bed. I need a good cry, I think, or a bottle of good Scotch.

At least the Lexis Nexis people are pitching today at school. Lexis Nexis points always make me happy.

In a few days things will be much, much better. Provided my husband doesn't hate the apartment.

thus spake /jca @ October 30, 2003 10:57 AM