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My husband left just under an hour ago for his second week in Chicago, leaving me all alone in our crappy apartment in Minneapolis.  My apartment looks like my old apartment vomited all over it.  That is, my stuff is everwhere (in various boxes).  It is a cardboard jungle.  I don't dare prowl around without lights on for fear of serious injury.  I don't know where any of my stuff is.
And I'm a wreck.  I finally had to get out of the apartment before I totally lost my mind.  I'm across the street using the WiFi in an incredibly expensive coffee house, just becasue I'm less likely yto have an emotional meltdown when I am in public.  My eyes and throat need a break from the hysterics.  I just don't know when I became so friggin' emotionally dependent, but it sucks.  Luckily, my WonderHubby doesn't mind my abnormal clinginess. 
it didn't sink in until today that:
1.  I actually live in Minneapolis now.  I do not live in Iowa and probably never will again.
2.  My husband really is leaving me all alone in this totally foreign environment with nobody but two turtles and a zebra finch for company. 

I wish we had gotten a dog before he had to leave.  I am hundreds of miles away from the nearest members of my support network and I feel very alone. 

mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
Cried myself to sleeparound 3 AM on his side fo the bed while clutching the teddy bear I've had since I was three.  I am a pathetic loser.
mighty_aphrodite: (Default)
I don't think I can fall asleep tonight.  I haven't slept alone since the night before our wedding.  And that was at my parents' house, not our empty and packing-cluttered apartment.  Oh, I slept on the futon a few times when pissy with the hubby, but I didn't sleep well. 

Maybe if I try the futon... It's weird sleeping in OUR bed alone, but maybe if I increase the foreign-ness of the sleeping location it will decrease the eeriness of the lonely sleeping.  Perhaps I'll try it.  And thank whatever gods there may be for my very old and cuddly teddy bear.  Maybe if I construct a surrogate hubby out of pillows and blankets and put our wall clock in the middle of it.... it works for puppies. 

I am sad and pitiful.  I have spent half the day talking to the bird and the other half crying like a small child.
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I don't know what I'm doing. And whatever it is, I don't like myself for doing it.

I've been realzing lately that by going to grad school in Minnesota I have single-handedly demolished David's career, especially for music. And I find it really hard to believe him when he says he doesn't hate me for it. I mean, I'd hate me, too. And I'm apprehensive... if I totally tank on grad school, I'll have ruined his life for no reason whatsoever.

Now Vern needs to go in for treatment, like, NOW... for at least 2-3 weeks, if not 5-6, and David needs to accompany him. That puts a big dent in my pregnancy window and I'll probably have to wait another year. I don't have it in me to be bitter about it. After all, Vern deserves a chance at a normal productive life and I want him to have that. That doesn't mean I'm not disappointed about it. I can't help but think that there's a certain justice in it... By my choices, I took away from David the thing he most wanted in the world, and because of the necessity of this trip, I may lose the thing I want most in the world. I can't exactly call it unfair, can I?
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Boy-Related Oddity # 877

No matter how gussied up I get, the boy finds me most attractive when bed-headed and wearing his old t-shirts and boxers. That is, unless I am wearing his very favorite body covering, which consists entirely of freckles.

The boy is totally anti-grooming. He prefers me without makeup, He doesn't like my hair straightened and/or curled. He throws tantrums over haricuts. I mean, it's great that I can be low-maintenance and all. BUt what gives with being attracted to slobbishness?
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Hottie got a job interview today! wOOt! It's Thursday in Minneapolis at an advertising firm called New Wave Concepts. They do marketing for UM Athletics, the Vikings, the Twins, The White Sox, and Papa John's Pizza. Anyway, I just got home from buying the boy a new suit and dress shoes. On credit of course, and uber on sale. But snazzy nonetheless. We're a bit excitable about it.
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What a friggin' day. I went into work today expecting to work four to six hours. After all, I was just coming in to help out with superbowl party foods, I wasn't even scheduled. Yeah, no. My co-worker, Cluresa, aka Old Lady, aka Bucket Nazi(long story), aka Pain in My Ass decided to call in sick this morning. THIS MORNIING. SUPERBOWL SUNDAY. We were friggin' swamped. I had to do the work of two people and it sucked! Granted, I did all HER work as half-assedly as possible. I'm not about to do anything ever again to make her life easier. Why? Becasue she lives to make my life more difficult. She's only ever sick when its inconvenient for others, and I always have to cover. So I left half an hour early after deciding, fuck it, I just don't care.

I was home for about an hour when my darling hubby called to tell me he was coming home... so he could go to the emergency room. He'd had swelling in his leg for a few days, and now a fierce head ache. The ultrasound confirmed what we had guessed, that he has a blood clot in his right calf. He'll be taking nightly injections of a blood thinner for three days, and then he'll go on an oral blood thinner for three to six months. The shots are supposedly pricey, as I'm sure we'll find out tomorrow when we fill the prescription, but luckily, the oral blood thinners are only a dollar a dose after the insurance picks up their 80%. Whew.

Now I feel just blah. maybe I'm just tired and stressed, but it's hard to tell, considering that everybody at work is sick right now. And my early onset arthritis/atrophying thymus gland is bothering me again. My knees and ankles are throbbing on and off this past week. Sigh. Perhaps tomorrow I will stay home with my bubby hubby until I have to go to work at one. I can't call in sick because everybody will assume I'm somehow doing it to spite Hag Bag. I swear, every time I call in sick, somebody accuses me of faking illness. I just can't win.


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September 2009

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