John is out of the country for work for a couple of weeks - he's already been gone a week, and this marks, I believe, the longest we have been apart in the almost nine years we've been together.

It's kind of weird.

He traveled to the same, uh, continent a few years ago, when we were first married. At the time, I was such a chickenshit about being alone (we didn't even have one cat at the time, gasp!), so over the course of the 2 weeks he was gone, I had (alternately) Jamie, my sister-in-law, and my mom come and stay with me (there were only a couple of nights I was by myself). But this time around I decided to go it alone - after all, I now have three (THREE!) cats at the house with me, and all together, that's practically a human person, right?

And so I have spent a good deal of time alone over the past week, which is something new for me. I mean, I have work all day, but when I leave, it's just me. And even though I miss John a LOT, in some ways it has been nice. I've enjoyed the following over the past few days:

1. Not cooking very much

2. When I *do* cook, I don't always make a vegetable. TAKE THAT, MOM!

3. When I *did* make a vegetable, it was English peas, which John hates. Ha-ha!

4. Making weird, loud noises, just to see what it sounds like, and not having anyone there to make fun of me. Strange looks from the cats do not count.

5. Moving the oscillating fan to where it blows directly on me, so I can get nice and cold to fall asleep. John is a freaking hot water bottle in bed.

6. Not having to sneak around in the dark when I get up at 4:30 in the morning for 6 a.m. telecons. I turned the radio WAY up, just because I could.

7. Taking my very sweet time running errands after work, wandering around the aisles lazily, just because I can - who do I have to go home to?

However, there have been some totally unfun things that I've had to deal with alone.

1. Mothereffing fire ants randomly swarmed my kitchen counter, and I had to not only clean it all up myself, but it was deeply unsatisfying yelling "FUCKING ANTS! GAAAAH!" when there was no one else to hear it. Again, strange looks from the cats don't count.

2. When Wee Kitten George starts being a shithead at 3:30 in the morning, attacking feet under the covers and getting up in my grill, going MEOWMEOWMEOWMEOW, there is no one else to accidentally kick to wake them up so they can put him out and you can stay all snuggled and sleepy.

3. Dealing with the kitty cat poop box. That's long been a designated John chore.

That's really about it - I shouldn't complain. And I'm not, exactly.

It's just been...*different* being alone.

Tonight I am checking one more thing off my life list, and going to a movie alone. (I've done the restaurant thing by myself, but admittedly, it was while I was traveling alone - still, it counts.) I'm seeing Eat, Pray, Love. Yes, I know, terrible reviews, and I did not read the book, and it's not so much that I am that interested in seeing that movie, but since this is kind of an experiment anyway, why the hell not? Maybe I can make a drinking game out of it, like every time Julia throws her head back and laughs, all throaty and open-mouthed and toothy, I take a swig of beer (that is on special, $2 Shiner drafts, yay!).

Except that I have to drive myself home. Hmm...

I’ve been angry lately.

Well, it’s mostly cranky, with a thin layer of anger on top.

There are several things my mood could be attributed to, all of them poor excuses for my being such an asshole, but explanations just the same – hormones, being in a weird place at work, much-anticipated fantastic dinner party plans foiled, a dire need for a haircut, no dinner plan laid out for the week, and dirty dishes in my sink every night when I get home.

Last night I dreamt I yelled at Jamie. Like, SCREAMED at her. Y’all, I have never raised my voice in anger to my best friend – I think all of my yelling in her presence has been drunken and/or Trivial-Pursuit-related, or masked as “singing”. I woke up very upset and guilty – I’m sorry, Jamie, for being such a d-ck. If it helps at all, in the dream, after my outburst, I continued cooking you dinner in your kitchen, and no, I had not slipped anything in it (ha).

I am waiting for something to happen, something to spur me into action, something to propel me into the next phase of…something. A few weeks ago I went through this (weird) phase where I kept thinking I was twenty-five years old – for some reason my age kept coming up, and I kept thinking, “Yeah, I’m twenty-five. OH SHIT WAIT I’M TWENTY-EIGHT. I HAVE LOST THREE YEARS!”. Because nothing much has changed. And I realized that life *is* basically the same thing over and over again, but the only thing I have to mark the passage of time are my haircuts, six weeks apart. It’s depressing.

I need a change.

Dear Jackhole On The Other Side Of My Cubicle Wall,

Hey, how about actually *carrying* your cell phone with you at work, rather than leaving it on your desk, set to A Level Of Vibrate That Would Make Even Jenna Jameson Blush, and then disappearing all day, except to return briefly in order to whistle tunelessly and tap your pen on your desk for 2 minutes, then leave again in order to wander the halls in too-short khaki cargo pants (THERE IS ROOM IN YOUR GEEDEE POCKETS FOR THAT PHONE) and a white undershirt WITH NOTHING OVER IT. GROSS.

Kisses and THROAT PUNCHES,

G

Did you see finslippy’s post about her dog Charlie?

My haircut is starting to look somewhat like hers (albeit mine still has 2 ½ month-old, busted-ass highlights, which I am sick of). And lately I’ve been thinking, GOD I NEED A HAIRCUT SO BAD (but I’m putting it off for a couple more weeks so I can afford to fix the color too), and so I’ve been on the lookout for haircut pics for variations on the short cut I have already. And so I’m looking at her pics, and I am all, I LOVE HER HAIR MUST SAVE THIS PICTURE. But then I will take it in to my hairdresser, and she will be all, THIS IS WHAT YOUR HAIR LOOKS LIKE THIS VERY SECOND EXCEPT WITHOUT OLD-ASS HIGHLIGHTS AND PERHAPS 1/8 INCH TRIM AROUND YOUR EARS. And then I will be all, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, JUST MAKE ME LOOK CUTE LIKE ALICE BRADLEY, because LOOK AT HER, AND I WANT A DOG TOO, and my hairdresser will be all Okay, CRAZY LADY, snipsnip, that will be 50 BUCKS, PLEASE, and then I will be disappointed because I will NOT LOOK LIKE ALICE BRADLEY and also I WILL NOT HAVE A DOG.