You know what kind of weather I hate? Flurries. What the hell is the point of flurries, Mother Nature?? Big, fluffy, dry snowflakes are pretty. Tiny, nearly-invisible ice-daggers that kamikaze past your eyelashes into your eyeballs are NOT SO MUCH.
It was so cold this morning when I took the dog out that my jeans started to hurt on my legs. 17 degrees is not for wimps, and I, apparently, am a HUGE WIMP. But Heidi had already been cooped up two days without relief on account of the weather and she was about to dig a tunnel under the door in desperation. The cold doesn't seem to bother her. I think the fires of her crazy keep her warm.
I really would have liked for R to be home today. First, I would have looked forward to him trying to talk me out of going outside at all. Then I would have resented the fact that he didn't offer to take the dog out for me. The resentment would thaw, however, with the cup of hot coffee and warm body he offered me upon my return. Then Heidi would try to crawl in our laps and she'd be so adorable with the puppy eyes and he with the ear-fondling and doggie-speak and I'd forget that there was such a thing as "cold."
It seems like the busier my schedule gets - the more interaction with the Army community at large required of me - the lonelier I get. Or, if not lonelier, more sensitive. It's like every conversation I have, every phone call I have to make, every person I smile at in passing becomes this little tear in my psyche, all adding up to a gaping wound until I just want to hide under the covers for a week to heal. Not exactly the kind of upbeat, positive attitude I'm supposed to be exhibiting as (jazz hands:) FRG co-leader!
One of the ways I miss R the most is for his ability to appreciate my susceptibility to social fatigue. Which is truly one of the greatest things about him, because he doesn't suffer the same. Oh sure, he gets tired of people, needs a little bit of solitude to regroup, but by and large he's a social creature. The act of interacting with people past his limits doesn't hurt him like it does me. And yet, he's perfected the art of being still - emotionally, physically and intellectually - around me when I need it, but still being there.
That skill of his is what allows my optimism to shine through. Without it, I just feel bombarded until I hate the idea of people, let alone having to interact with them. It doesn't help that the intense cold and upcoming holidays put me in hibernation mode.
54 out of 365. It's too soon for me to be feeling this way.