My Ginger Hunk went away for a week last week. Oh and I missed him so!
For the first three days I starfished in the bed, enjoying the wide variety of pillows, rejoiced in having sole custody of the cat, cleaned the house forensically, ate what I liked and enjoyed turning ALL the lights in the house on when I woke up at ridiculous o clock to go to the gym.
I was relishing in my new-found freedom, and not having to think about anyone else.
Then on day four, the little pangs of being alone without The Ginger Hunk set in. That missing feeling.
That little sad feeling in the pit of your tummy.
(Just for the record, usually I am a foxy, independent woman, who enjoys her own time, her own activities and time alone. Usually.)
But I started to feel like such a lonely loser last week without The Ginger Hunk around. And I hated feeling like a loser… and feeling so dependent. I have seen it be the demise of many relationships (and women), this whole being so dependent thing.
I was not alone in my state. The cat appeared to miss him terribly too. Each afternoon she was basically climbing up fly screen when she spied me walking up the street and she started a midnight vigil in his office.
Anyway, while feeling like a loser for most of the week, and not the foxy independent lady that I am, between phone calls to my bestie I started to stalk some psychology forums to see if there was indeed some chemical reaction in my brain which made me miss said husband.
I found this lovely response which summed up how I was feeling on a forum where other humans were discussing the psychological side of missing someone. Whoever this random person is, they hit the nail on the head.
I think we miss someone because the lack of them being there is greater than the presence of others. We miss the times we had with the person and the way they made us feel. If you share a lot of happy experiences with someone wouldn’t you begin to associate that person with happiness? Almost as if that person is a direct link to your own private source of happiness. Those are just some of my thoughts though.
So it wasn’t me, feeling like a general loser, or that I was not happy with myself in all my independent glory (because I am). It was the culmination of happy experiences that are associated with being around The Ginger Hunk that I missed (and his cooking, snuggles and laughs.)
Last night he returned, with a swag of smelly boy clothes, his stuff spread everywhere, food on the bench and snoring like a dying goat again. Ah. These are the things we forget!
But we don’t think about that stuff when we miss them do we?
But I would not have him any other way. (Except for maybe little bit cleaner.)
Do you live with a frequent traveler?
