Baby, Come Back

He's gone and won't be back til the first week of December. And honestly, I thought I was cool. Ahmed is often away on business-- one week a month, in fact. And we have always been two people who thrived on time apart. He's in Cambridge while I am in Green Harbor for a lot of our week. No biggie, right?

OMG wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. I'm LOSING it. This month my guy is spending time in England with his family, celebrating his father's 90th birthday, and also the arrival of a brand new nephew, Alexander. He doesn't get nearly enough time with them, and I am so happy they are getting these two weeks.

After that he goes to Texas to meet with some fellow physicians who are doing research on PF... then off to Nova Scotia for the last week of the month, as usual. But that means, combined with the last week of October (when he had strep throat), I will be without him a total of 5+ weeks. I am sitting on nearly 3 now.

Where on earth did I get the idea I could do this without wigging?

Yeah, as I enter week three I am finding that I have to force myself to be positive. Once a day we talk on the phone, usually for about an hour. Even Max misses his daddy. While we chat long distance the little guy sits on my lap and tilts his head, making little sad noises, whenever he hears that much-beloved voice buzzing away against my ear.

I know, intellectually, that I count on Ahmed a lot and that he is a huge part of my daily existence. But it's times like this I really have to face how much I need him, love him, and miss even something as simple as hearing his voice in the next room or knowing I can be in his arms in an instant if I want to be. I miss him cursing under his breath. I miss trying to get up to pee at 3 AM only to find myself trapped in a sleepy strangle-hold.

I'll survive, of course. But I will also be showing some serious appreciation when our baby comes back. It can't be too soon!

Where's My Frickin' Rainbow?

Yeah... it's a pity party. And I know they get old, so feel free to ignore me. Lately I haven't been depressed, really. But I can't seem to write. And I can't seem to answer that block with my usual determination and distraction technique. Nothing wants to grow here.



Ahmed says this is understandable, since I am in a lot of pain and can't sleep. I've recently been struck with polymyositis from PF treatments, followed by two broken toes and a third with hairline fractures. My muscles are breaking down and my bones are brittle. It's part of fighting to survive. I understand and embrace this... but it wears me down. So the leg thing has kept me from sleeping. I'm on maybe 2 hours a night.

I hate people who complain. I hate feeling so locked in doldrums on a day like this one, bright and crisp and beautiful after miserable rains. I want to look forward with an open and grateful heart... but I really, really need a rainbow. It's all well and good to make hope your choice. I'd just love a little sign... something small... some tiny whisper that it will be ok.

/pity party

Pocket Full of Wishes

I've blogged about it before, but will probably be blogging about it again... and again... and again. I'm a purse-addict. I love pocketbooks. I love expensive leather, mid-priced cloth, and everything in between. And part of the reason is, I guess, my infatuation period with each new purse.

It all starts off dreamy. I am currently shlepping around with a very nice Gianni Bernini in black leather. I've had it for 4 months or so, and I've loved it for 3 of them. But something strange ALWAYS happens around the 4th month.

I need two inches more horizontally and perhaps an inch more vertically. Or one inch less. Or better outside pockets. Or a zipper rather than a snap.

Then it begins. Today I tried out Vera Wang's new line and hated all the strap lengths. Lately, it seems, every designer is insisting on providing shorter straps with no option to lengthen. Nope. Sorry, I have a very specific shoulder comfort zone.

I am not a fan of that Kathy person with a cheesy Claddagh rip-off symbol on everything. Ugh.

Tignanello is great, but they always seem either too stiff, or not firm enough. I love hobo bags, but need more structure. I had an Anne Klein leather that I liked, but found a tad too small. I had Stone Mountain, Saddleback, and Coach. I still have a lot of Vera Bradley.

Right now? I have a headache. And I hate my bag.

Boooooooooooooo- Ringggggggg!

I'm all for a change now and again but let's face it... when you're an addict you can only allow for so much flexibility. And I'm an addict. In fact, I'm an addict several times over and may, in fact, be captain of the addiction team for the next Olympics. It's close. Ahmed is trying to sweat me out and Maria Alvarez is putting in a pretty impressive dark-horse showing.

But anyway...

Romance Diva's forum is down. This is problematic for me on several levels.

1. I can't dork around reading messages to waste time, avoiding the things I am not in the mood to do.

B. I can't check messages from fellow Divas.

Third. I can't send an IM to my secret santa telling her how incredibly cool the little gift she sent was. (Neato book and cooking set thingie for Max... so tres coolio!!)

Last. I can't get advice, give advice, and share the daily grind of writing with women who are smart, talented, funny, experienced, willing to share, willing to laugh with_not_at my own struggle. I can't connect to a few hundred best-friends-ever I've never, technically, met... but whom I love.

Is there a rehab clinic anywhere close by? Cuz dude... this would be like if they closed Starbucks. S'rsly. :-(