and then there was one
As I type, TA is flying across the Atlantic on his way to Montreal. He'll be there for a month, perhaps longer. Half of me wants him to stay until Christmas - good money, career advancement, networking, CV bolstering... But the other half of me desperately wants him home. Now, for preference. I waved goodbye earlier this afternoon, shut the door, fled to our room and cried. I'm such a softie. If previous trips are anything to go by, day by day this will get easier until after a week or two I'll be positively revelling in the space and time alone, but at the moment I feel unconsolable and bereft. I keep wandering from room to room not knowing quite what to do with myself. I picked up a book and put it down again; I haven't got the patience or attention span to read. I rang American K, but she's out of the house helping to deliver another friend's baby (that sense of perspective helped for about five minutes). I just want my husband home. I never know whether it's worse to be the one going or the one left behind. I should stop typing now shouldn't I? Or change the subject.
House stuff is moving on - I've instructed a solicitor, the mortage paperwork will be filled in tomorrow. Meanwhile, here at Badger Palais, Housemate D has found a new flat and will be moving - not a moment too soon - on Monday and Housemate M is off to Europe for a month or two. It will be very quiet around here for the next few weeks.