I'll miss kale salads, and Andy, Nathan, and Greg
So...my husband Dan is coming home soon. Really soon. I am looking immensely forward to it, make no mistake. But I know the adjustment will be hard too.
You see, I don't mind so much being alone. I relish my independence. These years in Nashville especially have revealed to me my highly introverted nature, and I relish it. I am perfectly fine with curling up on my couch for the afternoon and becoming lost in queer theology readings or the oh-so-saccharine-but-oh-so-wonderful Parenthood. Or I love retreating to my kitchen and throwing together a maple-mustard lentil salad studded with apples and golden raisins or washing, destemming, and bagging my lettuce for the week. I hum to myself while I work sometimes, and I often have my best writing ideas while my hands are occupied chopping, washing, tossing. And I never get too lonely--I have Andy, Nathan, and Greg beside me, rambling on about parties and food and acceptable alcoholic concoctions. The still, the quiet, the peacefulness: I need it. I crave it.
When Dan comes back, the bed will be sticky and suffocating again from our body heat, no matter how much we turn down the air. I cannot prepare simply a gigantic kale salad and call it dinner anymore, and my inability ever to turn off the alarm and get out of my bed immediately when the tone sounds will not pass muster anymore. That I never clean often enough the mirrors flecked with toothpaste and spittle droplets flung from my orthodontics elastics will prove my inadequacy in bathroom housekeeping. How I can be anal about clutter and completely nonplused by the surmounting mountain of floss brimming from the waste bin by the toilet, I do not know.
All the things that I pretend are normal the husband's return reminds me may not be so normal.
And besides, now I have a real human who can keep me company in the kitchen talking buoyantly about alcohol. I have a reason to clean the bathroom more than twice a month (or someone to clean it for me). I have the comfort of tangibly knowing that I am not alone as I nod off to sleep each night.
The apartment will never be calm in the way that it has been. The breathing room I need to clear my head and find my own peace will lessen, making it all the more necessary to my survival. I will be increasingly pulled out of myself again just after having become comfortable with allowing myself to enjoy a healthy dose of self-preoccupation, perhaps so heavy a dose that some would call it selfish (I would call it invaluable self-awareness).
This is the stuff of relationship, of choosing a life together. You cannot live off kale alone.