The Long and Snowy Drive Home

Argh.  Today's drive through the Rockies and into Denver was decidedly NOT fun.  The sleet started as soon as I hit Vail and only got worse as I drove east.  By the time I was through the Eisenhower Tunnel, I was in full-on blizzard conditions.  Ice and blowing snow were all I could see; the lines in the road were all but erased by the storm conditions.  Slipping and sliding were inevitable.  I crawled along at a snail's pace, just hoping to stay on the road, unlike the many unfortunate drivers who weren't able to do so.  They littered the shoulder of I-70, making it look like some sort of impromptu used car lot.  It was a miserable drive, which didn't get any better as I reached the lower elevations.  The roads in Denver were just as bad, covered in snow, slush, and ice.  The entire city moved in slow motion, as every driver did their best to tackle the treacherous roads in an overly cautious manner, resulting in a painfully slow drive back my house.  But, I finally made it back, safe and sound.  Home again, home again.  Those words have never sounded so sweet.

So Over It

My contract is over. My work here is done. It's amazing how quickly the thirteen weeks flew by! Goodbye, SoCal! I've put in my time, and worked my fingers to the bone, so now it's time to play. First, a weekend in Las Vegas, which includes my first triathlon of the season, Rage in the Sage. Then the grueling drive back to Denver, where I'll reside for the summer months. It's been an interesting, chaotic, and exhausting thirteen weeks, so I'm relieved for my life to return to normal, to have dinners with my husband, and to sleep in my own bed. Travel nursing has it's perks and is certainly exciting, but, for now, I'm ready for the mundane.

Exhausted: Training for Ironman Canada, Week 6

Only six weeks in, and I'm already exhausted. It's like I've become a hamster in a massive wheel of triathlon training, continuously spinning myself into a frenzy, in hopes of whipping my body into Ironman shape. Everyday is a new challenge, whether it be running, biking or swimming. It's always something: speed work, hill repeats, strength and distance training. It never seems to end. My shoulders ache. My quads are incessantly fatigued. My appetite is out of control. And this is only the beginning...

All whining aside, I'm actually enjoying myself. With every workout, I feel myself getting leaner and stronger. Thanks to my coach, and the plan she's developed, every workout has a purpose and offers a new challenge. The days of simply going out for a run, a ride, or simple laps at the pool, are long gone. Now I'm forced to think about each and every training session. I focus on form. I concentrate on stride, pace, cadence, and RPMs. It's all become so technical, I almost feel like a real athlete.

Despite this shift in my training style, and my newfound fatigue, I have to admit that the workouts aren't really THAT hard. Yes, I'm pushing myself much further and harder than I have in the past, but it's nothing my body can't handle. The real challenge has been fitting the required sessions into my insane work schedule. Finding time to squeeze in six separate training sessions per week has not been an easy task while I'm working four, twelve-hour, overnight shifts each week. And convincing myself to get up early enough to jam in a short training session between shifts has been next to impossible. But, somehow, I'm making it work. I've made peace with the new reality that every day off from work is a day fully committed to my training. And I've even managed to occasionally peel myself out of bed in time to go for a run before heading into the hospital. It's exhausting, but I know all of this hard work is going to be worth it in the end.

So, that's where I'm at six weeks into my Ironman training. Just plain tired. I don't expect the exhaustion to ease much as the weeks wear on, but my work schedule will lighten significantly soon, which should help immensely. So, for now, I just have to grin and bear it. Preparing for Ironman is a labor of love; I guess I need to learn to love all of the labor it entails.

Perpetual Motion

I know. I know. It's like I fell off the face of the earth without any warning. It's been an entire month since my last post, and I can't really give a good reason as to why. It's not as though I haven't had things to write about. If I think about it, I've actually had a great deal to discuss: work has been crazy, my living situation interesting, and my training schedule insane. I could have written so many posts. I just haven't.

The only way to explain it is that it's as if I've been living my life with blinders on since our Bahamas trip. As soon as I got back to Cali, I put my head down, dug in, and began concentrating on nothing but work and training. My focus has been intense. So, life has become a blur of nights spent in the ICU and days spent running, biking, or swimming. (Some days, a combination of all four.) Everything else has fallen to the wayside. My social life is nonexistent. My personal life has been limited to phone calls and texts. Sad, but true.

In all honesty, I don't mind this current state of perpetual motion. I may be mentally and physically exhausted, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. At least, then, I'm also too spent to feel lonely for my life back in Denver. Instead of falling into any sort of melancholy, I simply fall into bed, too exhausted to feel anything but an overwhelming desire for sleep. I guess that's the overriding reason why I haven't been posting much, I've simply been too tired.

I'm so grateful all of this is almost over. I still have months of training ahead of me; that much won't change. But, at least, in a few short weeks, I'll be doing it from home. This contract will be over in a few weeks, and my time in SoCal, away from my Mouse, will come to an end. It's time for this adventure nurse to take a break and rest her weary bones. (Relatively speaking, that is.)

Punching Bags

Patients can be so cruel at times, lashing out at the very same people who provide them life saving care in their hours (and days) of need. They throw out insults and racial slurs like daggers to our hearts, saying such pointedly mean and ignorant things that it's tough to simply shrug the words off. They rant anti-gay or chauvinistic sentiment with such vehemence that it's all one can do to shut out the epitaphs. As healthcare professionals, we are taught that, most often, they don't mean what they say. They are not themselves, especially when some type of brain injury is involved. We know we're not supposed to take it personally. But, sometimes, the yelling and the ranting is so cruelly directed at us and is so personally offensive that it's difficult not to. We have to wonder if there isn't a kernel of personal truth to their hateful comments. We want to think the best of everyone, but it's not always so easy. We try to build thick skins, but sometimes the insults are too much. All too often, I've seen the sting in a coworker' eyes. And I know it's been apparent in mine from time to time, too. In what other industry would this ever be remotely acceptable? Why are we expected to be the punching bags? And worse, we're supposed to take the abuse with a smile? It's a serious flaw in the healthcare industry; one that I have no clue how to begin solving. All I know is that you should give your favorite nurse, or other healthcare worker a big hug today, as you never know what they went through at work.

SoCal State of Mind

And then I get to have a day like this; a beautiful, sunny, mild day in the middle of winter, in which I have all the time in the world to do whatever I want, and I remember how nice it is to live (even if somewhat temporarily) in SoCal. It was the perfect day to pack a picnic lunch, grab a good book, and settle into the sand for some much-needed beach time, so that is exactly what I did. It was my own form of therapy, easing the loneliness of being so far from home for just a little while; my mind soothed by the rhythmic crashing of the waves and smell of ocean hanging in the air. I couldn't help but be happy. It was an ideal afternoon, after all, my mind immersed in my book, my toes digging into the warm sand. It made me appreciate the freedom my solitude affords, to be able to laze about, without guilt, on my free day. I'll be back in Denver soon enough, I suppose. So, for now, I'll take my beach days and appreciate the life I'm in. It's not hard to do with scenery like this...

Absentee Wife

It's Mouse's birthday. It's Mouse's birthday and I am not there to celebrate it with him. Right now, he is out and about in Denver, celebrating with friends, and I am working yet another overnight shift here in Cali. I feel awful. He swears it doesn't matter, that birthdays aren't a big deal to him. But birthdays are a big deal to me. I care. It hurts my heart to know I'm not there to make his day special, to make him smile. It kills me that I wasn't there to make him breakfast, or a birthday cake, or anything else that makes a birthday memorable. Instead, I had to settle for cupcakes delivered by a friend. Today, I feel like a very bad wife.

Settling In

I'm glad I waited a full week to write this next post. I'm glad I gave myself time to settle in and absorb the reality of my new living situation. If I had written anything last week, it would have been angst-y and full of remorse. It would have exposed me for the emotional wreck that I was. Even though I've done this before, last week was a shock to my system. I felt utterly lost, convinced I had made the wrong decision. Strange house. Unfamiliar neighborhood. Horrible commute. It all added up to misery. I don't know how many times I called Mouse, my eyes filled with tears, telling him as much.

One would think this travel thing, being away from the husband and home, adapting to new environments, would get easier with each assignment. It doesn't. It always takes me time to adjust. So, last week, I had to wrap my head around the idea of being so far removed, once again. It wasn't a happy time. But, once I got back into the swing of things, and back to work, everything got a little better. And, I'm pleased to report, that each day since has steadily improved. I still miss all the comforts of my home, but I'm coming to terms with my new, temporary living situation.

So, instead of writing about how sad and lost I feel, I can write about how confident and content I am. Yes, I miss my husband, but this assignment is going to fly by more quickly than I can even imagine, and will amount to nothing more than a teeny tiny blurb in the story of my life. It will be over and done before I know it, so I need to appreciate it for all that it is: a chance to grow as a person, an opportunity to become a better nurse, a great way to make some extra money, and the perfect excuse to spend as much time as possible at the beach.

Gypsy Girl

I live a strange life.  I really do.  Monday was zero degrees and frost-bitten cheeks; Denver at its coldest and least appealing.  Yesterday, I ended my day with a run along Newport Beach, with the ocean and outline of Catalina Island the backdrop for my evening workout.  The juxtaposition of these two scenarios only highlights how crazy my life has become.  One day I'm scraping ice from my windshield, and the next I'm playing in the sand.  The most ludicrous part about it is that this has become my norm.  I've become a professional gypsy, a drifter.  Who knows where I'll be from one day to the next?  I bounce around so often that I'm beginning to forget where I actually call home.  Denver, Las Vegas, Australia, Newport Beach...  My life has become so vast, it's mind-boggling.  I never would have guessed this is what my life would become, a veritable merry-go-round of residences.  But I'm young and energetic, so I'm going to enjoy this ride while I can.  Now, if I could just remember my current address...

I Must be Crazy

And just like that, the holidays are done, the new year is well underway, and my month-long Denver hiatus is nearing an end. It doesn't seem possible for it all to have flown by so quickly. Wasn't I just looking forward to returning home, to spending time with my husband? Didn't I just make the grueling trip from California to Colorado, battling the less-than-ideal road conditions over Vail pass? No matter. It's time to do it all over again.

I'm not sure what I was thinking when I signed another contract. At the time, it seemed like a good idea; a do-able way to make some extra money. And didn't the last thirteen weeks fly by? But, now that it's time to go, I don't want to. I want to be home, to dig my heels in, to feel like I have some roots. I thought a month would be enough. I thought it would give me time to settle in, to enjoy my home, my husband, and the city I love. But these four, short weeks were anything but enough. Instead, I've felt like my life is in overdrive, and I'm constantly rushing to cram in every last detail. It's been a nonstop month of exhausting, and I'm worn out. So much for my holiday R&R.

I try to shrug off the frustration. It won't always be like this. I'm not going to live in limbo forever. (I know I've said that before.) Someday, life will be much more settled. (I hope.) But, for now, I have to take the chaos with the calm, the bad with the good. I'm just thankful that, even though the chaos is plentiful, the good is equally abundant.

As I pack my bags this weekend, preparing for another stint away, I need to focus on the positive, to remind myself this is simply another chapter in the adventure of my life. It may not be the easiest road to take, but it's bound to be worth the trouble. Only time will tell what this next fork in the road will bring, but that is the beauty of life.

Home for the Holidays

I did it. I'm done. My contract is over, and I'm back home in Colorado. Being back is like breathing a huge sigh of relief. Ahhh. It just feels SO good to be home. I don't care that I'm land-locked. I don't care that it's freezing cold this time of year. I don't even care that I've already had to battle one snowy day. Bring it on. I will gladly give up the ocean, and all of the other perks associated with my former SoCal lifestyle, to be back in my home with my boys.

Now that I'm back, I'm left to scramble to get things ready for the holidays. And there is soooo much to be done. Christmas cards, presents, wrapping. You name it, I still need to do it. It's my own fault, really. I totally slacked off so far this year, thanks to my extended absence. I guess it was unavoidable. But now I'm paying the time-crunch price, running around like a chicken with her head cut off. (Sigh!) At least the Christmas tree is now up, and I still have a few days to shop, so all is not at a loss. But, to be perfectly honest, I really don't care. This may not be the most perfect Christmas on record, but it's going to be amazing simply because I'm home to appreciate every last moment. And isn't that what truly matters?

Strange Days

It's a strange life I've been living these past few months.  Camping out in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with a friend and her neurotic dog.  Sleeping on a cot.  No television.  No Internet.   I may be living and working in The OC, but trust me, nothing about my current situation is glamourous.   At best, I feel like a broke college kid again, couch-surfing and partially living out of my car.   Although, even then, I lived more luxuriously than this.  The whole thing is so pitiful, it's almost funny.  I'm not sure what I thought life would be like when I signed up for this travel stint, but this certainly isn't it.

And yet, despite all of my whining, I have to admit, it's not really all that bad.  I'm making due.  Sure, the cot isn't doing my back any favors, and the whole situation is far from ideal, but it does remind me to be grateful for all I have back home.  It reminds me why I work so hard, and make the sacrifices I do.  It makes me appreciate the life I have temporarily left behind, and keeps me focussed on why I came out here in the first place.  Besides, at least I have a red wine buddy on my rare nights off.

Luckily, the countdown to the end of this nonsense has begun.  Nine days until Mouse arrives to bring me home.  Nine days and seven shifts, to be exact.  I'm so excited, I can barely contain myself.  Soon, all of this will be a thing of the past, a comical topic to bring up at dinner parties.  We'll all have a good laugh at my days sleeping on a cot, fending off a dog who likes to eat my underwear.  Soon, very soon, I will be back in my own house, with my own bed, and my own husband in my arms.  I guess that's another plus side to all of this, it's highlighted how the simple things are what truly make me happy.

Thanks, Thanksgiving

The turkey has been in the oven all day; its comforting scent wafting through the house, warming everything and everyone it touches. Our friends pop in, one by one, shaking off the Mile-High cold, to grab some food or a glass of red, maybe both. The football game plays in the background. Everyone is at ease, just happy to have a day off work and an excuse to over-indulge. It's perfect, really; one of those Thanksgivings they make commercials about.

At least, I'm pretty sure that's how the scene is playing out at our place in Denver. I wouldn't know, because I'm out here in SoCal, scarfing down a Healthy Choice meal, before heading back into work for Round Two. It's beyond depressing. I think I miss my boys more acutely today, than I have this entire travel stint. The holidays are so unkind that way.

I have to remind myself that this, too, shall pass. It's just another sacrifice that I must make to help build the future we want. Soon enough, I'll be home. This is the only holiday I will be spending alone.

Luckily, I don't really have the time to allow myself to wallow in the dumps. I'm off to work in a few, prepped for a busy night ahead. I can thank the holidays for the insanity about to commence, too. Sigh.

Happy Thanksgiving!

All In a Day's Work

Have you ever left work convinced you smell like poo? That you've been around the offending substance for so many hours, and in such large quantities, that the stench has diffused into your pores and stubbornly clings to each and every strand of your hair? That, no matter what you do, you cannot get the rancid scent out of your nostrils?

Chances are, if you're not a nurse, you probably haven't. Lucky you.

I, on the other hand, am not so fortunate, and today is one of those mornings. Which, of course, means last night was one of those nights. I'll spare you the gory details, but it would be safe to assume there was an abundance of poo. Think overflowing rivers. (Sorry for the visual. I couldn't help myself.)

I'm not sharing this to complain or make anyone feel sorry for me. If anything, I hope it makes you laugh. Believe me, I laughed all night at the grotesque ridiculousness of the situation. I couldn't help myself, because, quite honestly, it was the only thing I could do. (That and clean my patient many, many times.) I couldn't get mad; it wasn't her fault. The poor dear wasn't even conscious to realize what was happening. Even if she was, it would have been out of her control. It was the perfect storm of tube feedings and bowel meds. Besides, as all nurses know, sometimes (and all too often), poo just happens.

So, now that my night in fecal hell has come to an end, I'm headed home to scrub myself from head to toe. I've never been so excited to step foot in my shower and wash away the evidence of my unfortunate night. Oh well - eventually I'm bound to come clean.

Kind of makes you reevaluate your definition of a "bad day", right?

Scarred for Life

**Disclaimer - If you are not a nurse, you may not want to read this. You could very well be scarred for life. No joke. You have been warned...**

It happened so quickly, I didn't have time to react. I stood there, as if frozen in time, unsure of what to do next. I couldn't just drop the patient and run for the hills, screaming in horror. He was my responsibility, after all. I was mortified and disgusted, but what could I do? So I held back a shriek, maintained my composure, and finished the task at hand, all the while fighting the urge to take steel wool to my face.

Seriously?!? This was how my work week was going to begin?

Up until that moment, I honestly thought I was ready to take on last week and all the craziness that comes with working in my hospital. After a few days off, and some much-needed pampering, I was recharged and rejuvenated. My head was clear. My outlook on life improved. I felt like a new woman, confident nothing could get me down. Ha. All that bravado went out the proverbial window almost as soon as I clocked in and hit the floor. No kidding, it took less than an hour to realize I was oh-so-very wrong. On this day, life, karma, whatever you want to call it, had other plans for me. I still haven't figured out what it wanted to teach me, but I am certain it wanted knock me down.

What could be so bad, you ask? I do work in an ICU, after all. I'm bound to run into some gnarly, stomach curdling stuff from time to time. And you're right, I do. I can stomach gunshot wounds, head traumas, and unbelievably gross abdominal wounds any day of the week. Bring them on. But this was much, much worse. I may even be scarred for life. That night, I was the one the other nurses were shaking their heads in sympathy for.

First off, let me set the stage for my drama. This was a comatose, end-stage renal failure patient. He was third-spacing and oozing from every inch of his skin. The little urine he was producing was thick, red, and smelled horrible. (See? I told you that you might not want to read this entry if you're not a nurse!) In short, he was really, really ill. He didn't have a good prognosis, so my goal was to keep him as clean as possible and as comfortable as possible during my shift. This is where the horror of all horrors comes into play.

I was cleaning him, with the assistance of my aid, getting him into a dry gown, and replacing the bodily-fluid-soaked linens with fresh ones. It happened when we turned him. It only took a second. There was really nothing I could have done to prevent it. As we rolled him to his side, there was a slight tug on his Foley catheter. Normally, this wouldn't mean a thing. But, this time, there was a defect in the catheter, and that one little tug led to disaster. The catheter came apart at the hub, allowing the concentrated urine to escape the tubing. Droplets of urine flew through the air, landing upon whatever surface was in their trajectory. Can you guess where they landed? Yup, quite unfortunately one of said surfaces was my lips. Yes, his blood-red, nasty, concentrated pee landed on my formerly clean, well-moisturized lips. It took a moment to register what had just happened. When it finally did, my eyes widened with shock and my stomach churned with disgust. But I couldn't just drop my patient. Doing so could harm him. So I wiped it off with the sleeve of my gown, finished caring for him, and then promptly scrubbed my lips with alcohol wipes. What else could I do? Sigh!

Bloody pee on my lips. That was a first. And, I pray to all that is holy, a last. Ugh. It's not blood or guts, but the thought of it makes me gag. And, even though I did my best to eradicate it from my skin, I'm convinced that it soaked in and I'm now contaminated. I'm going to live with this memory forever. Now do you see why I had such a bad night??? Thanks, karma.

Rainy Days and Thursdays

I know I've mentioned this before, but I cannot help but reiterate how much I love a nice, grey, rainy day. If I weren't working tonight, I might be a little disappointed by today's turn in the weather, but since my only goal until 5pm is to sleep, this dreary day is a welcome break from the usual nonstop sun. The pitter-patter of each rain drop lulls me to sleep, urging me to burrow deeper into my blankets and shut out the surrounding world. The rain is my own, personal "hall pass" to stop feeling guilty about slumbering away my entire day. So, I'm going to take full advantage of this lovely fall day and sleep like a champ. In fact, my eyelids are already heavy...

Away From the Grind

Ahhh... I feel like a new woman. Two days off was just what I needed. Yes - I know. My prior level of exhaustion was my own fault. No one forced me to work all of those consecutive shifts. I've been a woman on a mission these past few weeks; a mission to work as much as possible. I have my reasons, of course. The extra money is nice. (And that's why I'm out here, right?) But, more than anything, I need to keep working so I don't have time to think about how much I miss my Mouse and my life back in Denver. But even a workaholic like me needs a couple of days to relax and unwind, which is exactly what I did.

Working so many nights in a row has a way of making me feel horrible about myself. Most of it can be attributed to my lack of sleep and jacked-up circadian rhythm. And I'm sure the 2am junk food intake doesn't help, either. But I also start to feel utterly antisocial. When I'm working, there is no time for me to hang out or catch up with my friends. I work and sleep, and that's about it, disappearing into the strange and twisted world of ICU-land. So, when I finally grant myself a couple of days off, I make sure to take full advantage, which is exactly what I did these past couple of days.

Knowing these were going to be the only two days of respite in my foreseeable future, I went for broke. I primped and pampered, treating myself to a haircut, facial, and massage. I went shopping. I drank wine with friends. I ate street tacos at the Huntington Beach Tuesday night market. I even managed to squeeze in a decently long run along the San Clemente beach. I couldn't have planned this mini-break better if I tried. These last two days provided a much-needed recharge for my mind, body, and soul.

Now that I've squeezed in all of my R&R, it's time to get back to the grind. I'm looking at another four grueling nights of dealing with the aftermath of car accidents, gang activity, and unchecked infections. Such is the life of an ICU nurse. But, this week, I'm ready for it. Bring on the sickies!

Another Crazy Night

Uh oh. I knew last night was going to be trouble the moment I stepped onto the floor. The air was just charged with that frantic tension that always seems to precede complete and utter chaos. I could see it in the day-shift nurses' eyes. I could sense it in the way they franticly scurried around, responding to alarms and paging their respective docs, rather than waiting patiently to give the change-of-shift report. The phones were ringing off the hook. Someone was barking at me to talk to a doc regarding a patient about which I knew nothing. In the background, as if to emphasize the symphony of catastrophe that was threatening to erupt, were the high-pitched wails of two patients on the verge of psychosis. And, oh yeah, it smelled like poo. Ahh... Welcome to the ICU.

It's nights like this that make me want to walk away before my shift even begins. I've been around long enough to sniff out a pending night from hell. I know I'm going to spend the shift putting out one fire after the next, chasing my own tail, and doing my best to keep the insanity simmering at a manageable level. I'm never going to sit, eating a meal will be an impossibility, and I'll be catching up on my charting long after my shift is over. Yup - I could foresee my future before I even had a chance to glance at my patients. And once I did, I knew my fait was sealed.

Of course, I was right. It was a bad night. I ran. I put out fires. I kept our intensivist up all night. But, ultimately, it turned out to be a halfway decent shift. Partially, because we caught things in time. Even more so, because I work with a great team. Yet, I couldn't help but breathe a really long sigh of relief when it was finally time to go home.

One night down. Only three more to go...

All Work, No Play

Wow. I just powered through five twelve-hour night shifts, which is never an easy feat. I've felt like a zombie nearly the entire time, making my way through each night as if I'm one of the walking dead. I'm pretty sure, by the end of last night's shift, my eyes were glazed over from total lack of sleep; my pupils fixed and dilated just like a neuro case gone bad. My throat hurts. My back aches. Even more depressing is the way my feet and ankles have morphed into the ever-so-attractive tankle-ish look. But, despite the wear and tear on my body, and my complete and utter exhaustion, I feel good. I feel useful and accomplished. I finally did exactly what I came out here to do - work hard.

I knew this is what I needed, less play and more work. It's a rare occasion when I feel this way, but too much idle time can sometimes be my enemy. Early last week, I caught myself slipping into a deep funk. I just couldn't shake the loneliness of missing my Mouse and my life back in Denver. Self-doubt had set in, making me wonder if I had made the right decision in coming back to SoCal. Not that my feelings weren't valid, or my introspection absurd, but I definitely had way too much time to brood. So, I did the most logical thing I could. I threw myself into work.

One week later, here I am, exhausted but content. I'm too tired to worry about the "what ifs". And I'm actually relieved to have a bed all to myself. (And by bed, I mean either air mattress or camp cot, depending upon which friend I'm bunking with.)

So this is my new plan. I'm going to keep myself so busy I won't have time to think about all the negatives. I'm going to work. I'm going to run. And I'm definitely going to make sure I have things planned on my off days. (Oh - and I definitely have some fun husband-and-puppy-filled weekends in the works.) If I can keep that up, my thirteen weeks will be up before I know it. Yup, I can definitely do this.

The SoCal Blues

I have a sneaking suspicion the honeymoon is over.  Yes - It's quite possible the charm of my temporary move back to SoCal has already worn off.  I know it seems short-lived, but let's face it, my life was thrown into an uproar the minute I accepted this travel stint, and the chaos is finally catching up with me.  I toss and turn at night.  I'm (ever so slightly) moody and cranky.  I feel an internal state of funk beginning to build.  You'd think I'd be a little tougher, being the seasoned traveler I am.  It hasn't even been that long.  I've only been gone for two weeks, after all.  Besides, it's beautiful out here, I'm having fun catching up with friends, and I genuinely enjoy my job.

So why am I complaining?  Despite all of the upsides (and there are many), I can't but help miss my bed, my puppy, and my hubby.  I'm working on a serious case of homesickness right now, and am not sure how to cure what ails me.  Quitting is not an option (or really a desire).  And, thanks to our mixed-up schedules, neither is a quick visit home.  So, I'm just going to have to tough it out, waiting patiently for my angst to fade.

If memory serves me correctly, I felt this way the first months on my own in Australia.  I missed Mouse, and our life together, so acutely it hurt.  I pined for him in a way I didn't even know possible.  But, eventually the pain dissipated to a dull ache, until I was able to see the value of being on my own for a spell.  The same will happen here.  It won't be long before I'm so caught up in work and my own routine, that I won't even remember what all of my moping was about.  So, for now, I just need to power through these melancholy days and hold on to the simple things, like funny voice-mails and silly texts.  They may not bring me the creature-comforts of home, but they will help uplift my mood and sustain my soul.  (And that is more important than any memory-foam bed.)