And lately, you can add nightmares to the mix. I'm not talking monsters and zombies. I'm talking about dreams that prey on my worst fears, then exploit them. Twice this week I've woken up completely heartbroken. There's always this ache there, but when I wake up in the mornings, it's like I've been ripped open and left to bleed. Horrid dreams that make absolutely no sense to me. Or maybe they make better sense than I realize.
Well, onto less interesting, but less pessimistic things. Since my day is starting so late, I've opted for tea over coffee. And since I woke up in such a foul mood, I'm having chocolate madeleines for breakfast. These little cake/cookie type things are so good that I have dreams about them (the good kind). They were doing a sampling of them one day at my Starbucks in Staunton, and I haven't been able to live without them since. So, this is me shamelessly plugging Starbucks, once again. Buy the chocolate madeleines. Happiness in a snack size package.
Of course, being me, I had to take it a step further and order madeleine pans. I'm convinced there's a way to make these tasty little treats somewhat healthier. Wish me luck with that one.
Yesterday was rewardingly stressful. It involved paperwork, a lot of tense waiting, and cleaning
my garage. Why you ask? Because my husband bought me a present! Anyone could tell me right now that they have the world's best husband, and I'd probably fight them to the death. My husband rightfully deserves the title at the moment.
Two years ago, when I came into this marriage, I brought a truckload of baggage. Financial baggage and emotional baggage. And Jerry's done his darndest to get rid of both. One was easier than the other. Part of this involved selling the first car I'd bought on my own. I was so far underneath this car that I couldn't see the light of day, and we lived in DC, so having two cars was ridiculous. But when I let go of the car, I felt like I let go a little piece of me. Which was funny, because I pretty much hated that car. I bought it on one of the worst days of my life, and it had behaved accordingly ever since.
Not having your own car, or anything of your own for that matter, can make you feel like you're a visitor in someone else's world. I've felt like a visitor in Jerry's, and he knows that. He's tried so hard to reassure me that all these things are mine as well. He even let me do my bedroom in VA in a black/white/pink Audrey Hepburn theme. But I still felt like I was drowning in his 45 years worth of stuff. There wasn't enough room for everything. Until now.
When Jerry said we were moving to Florida, it became my mission to find the right house. And, lucky for us, the right house came along fairly quickly. And in its square footage, I was able to find something that had always been missing in our decor: us. Not me. Not him. Us. There was room for our tastes to blend, room to add little bits of me to some of the things he's collected. It was the memories that we'd made together that inspired me, specifically, our disastrously delicious trip to Hawaii. And with the help of my aunt and grandma (I say help, but there has to be a stronger word for everything they did for me) , my vision became real. And I feel like WE live here. But there was something missing.
I was still driving around Jerry's Saturn. And soon enough, we were going to need to need two cars. I'd been browsing cars and usually ended up getting frustrated and giving up. But a couple days ago, I found the car I wanted. And without any hesitation on his part, Jerry sent me to buy it. My gift from him. A trophy car for his trophy wife.
I keep running to the garage every hour or so to make sure it's not a dream.
Today's lesson: Sometimes it's alright to hand your baggage to someone else and trust them to take care of it when it's too heavy for you to handle. Even if it takes some time, the right person will help you throw back the convertible top and toss that baggage right out into Tampa Bay at 70 MPH.
It's been a long year. And I don't often think about the amount of time my husband has spent away from me in terms that break my heart, but I think back over the last 12 months, and it hurts when I realize that he's basically missed a full year of our life together. He missed Europe, both our birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and our anniversary. He missed picking out the house we're renting and buying furniture. He missed helping me pack and move. Now he keeps roaming around the house, looking for his stuff and laughing when I tell him I honestly have no clue where it is.
