four hundred days of sand

Last night The Man and I had a pretty rational talk, and actually a good evening of companionship.  We even shared a few chuckles.  He’s got training today, at a military installation about 20 minutes south of here.  For that, he has to drive to his military installation, a little over an hour north of here, mount a bus, ride that down, ride the bus back up, then drive back home.  His carbon footprint coulda’ been Cinderella, it’ll end up Sasquatch.  Gotta love Army Logic.       BUT at least that logic will be sending him off for stateside training at the end of April, not at the end of March, and at least the same logic has shortened up the length of the tour.  We’ll still prepare mentally for 400 days, and then if there are extensions or issues, the disappointment won’t hurt as badly.  But all told, last night ended on an optimistic note.       So why the hell was I up at 2 am, twitching, thinking about the different line items that trouble me, the things I want/need/fear?  Why were pieces of random fluttering about like isolated snowflakes?  Why, at 2 am, was I thinking, “DVD players. Dryer. Clean Garage.  Dust.  Clean house.  Buy a new pair of shorts.  Get hair cut and colored, something sunny.  Have it thinned? Keep it bushy?  Don’t forget a waxing appointment. Get pedicure.  Which suitcase for The Kid?  Ask about friend’s brother, housesitting.  New Jeans.  Get massage. Maybe in Hawaii, couples-type?  Run, log as many miles as possible before Maui, get that muscle tone in legs back.  Don’t forget the triceps. Maybe work with trainer? Punch on 100 pound bag?  Six of each kind of hit/kick? Don’t forget abs. Bills.  Call AMEX, call gap.  Figure out W-4 for new employer.  Figure out what new employers expectations are.  Playdate The Kid? What the HELL will I do when she’s done with school for the year? Should I write a note re Hawaii, and potentially a trip to California, to her school before all the details are known?”       The lists went on, and on, even as I blanked my brain and tried to focus on The Man breathing next to me, even as I tried to steal some of his heat and tried to focus on that to soothe me to sleep…  And then my thoughts ran to, how much am I going to miss this when he’s gone?  What will I do on Friday nights when he’s away, when I want to talk to someone about not a whole lot of anything, when I want to hang out in my space in a braless state, who will tell me my floppy, kid-feeder boobs are hot?  What will I do for sex?  When I can’t have it, will I all the sudden no longer be frigid, will I want it?            (I finally drifted off to sleep right before his alarm went off at 4:30.  I drifted back to sleep right about when The Kid woke up.  Small wonder, I have a headache.  But I’m not worrying…  just thinking.  Call it, “mental preparations”