Homesick Round One in Days of My Destiny

It's not that I don't want to be here anymore, it's just that I am riding my first wave of true homesickness. Of course, it was bound to happen. I believe that this whole year has been a slow build up to this very moment.

I've been missing him all week, for the first time since we've been here. Afternoon shift. I put the girls to bed and the only way to keep things from feeling miserable is to keep myself busy. The kitchen has turned into a pristine spotlessness each night. I've played guitar and sung until my voice is coarse. I read a whole book in less than 24 hours (it's easy reading, not that long and sucked me right in, by the way, but still. It's "The Spare Room" by Helen Garner for any curious minds). The other night I didn't want to sing or play guitar or watch TV or read. I wanted to sew. I'd bought a man-size "sweater" (pullover) at an op shop because I'd seen online somewhere that you can turn one into a child's comfortable dress. I love that idea. Yet there was no internet connection in my house that night. The hours were endless.

I miss him because there's nothing much else to keep my mind off missing him. There's no-one else. I feel foolish for missing him when he's only gone for 12-15 hours a day. But then I remind myself that I am allowed to miss my own husband, no matter how long he's gone for. I am allowed to because I allow it. I am kind to myself.

I do feel lonely, though. This week has been the first week ever that I have had to stop myself from crying, turning my face away from his, to avoid revealing just how lonely I feel at the thought of him going to work. The other night I found all my old CDs. Amongst them is a CD with a single song that he wrote for me many years ago. I had not heard it for many years. As his voice came through the speaker, I smiled at how young he sounds. How tough he's trying to make his song. How new our love was, and how it still feels so natural and new in many ways. I smiled... and then I started crying. I miss him.

Tonight I hung some sheets I forgot I had washed earlier today. I brought in the dry washing. I washed mountains upon mountains of dishes and saucepans and general kitchen items. I played hip hop music in his absence, another CD he dedicated to me years ago (Das FX - because I once heard them and told him I liked their sound). I was playing it because that's what I felt like listening to - and yet, while washing the dishes, I realised that maybe I felt like listening to that particular type of music because he wasn't there - in his honour. I was wishing so much that he could be beside me, drying the dishes, talking about this artist or that artist, trying to engage me in the type of conversation I've never agreed with (talking about artists as if you know them really well and are friends with them - not my kind of conversation lol. But over the years I've learned to appreciate that it is his kind of conversation and therefore, I engage and give opinions and thoughts - though sometimes it's a struggle).

After I washed the dishes, I baked the real-deal cheesecake for my mother in law. Once I poured the mixture into the biscuit shell I made hours ago with my littlest girl, I scraped away at the sweet, crimson, cheese-like chocolate mixture left in the bowl. I had way too many spoonfuls, to the point that I had a slight stomach ache. But then, I wasn't sure if the stomach ache was already there to begin with. Either way, having a stomach ache due to over-indulging in cheesecake mixture is way better than having a stomach ache due to homesickness.