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!

Grumpy Pants

Ok, Ok. It's time for me to stop my whining and take off my grumpy pants. I loathe to admit it, but this weekend was actually fun. (Who would have guessed?) I realize I did a tremendous amount of moaning and groaning as the weekend approached, as I truly did expect the worst, but I somehow proved myself wrong and managed to eke out a good time. Oddly enough I didn't even do anything special to change my mind; just being away from the hospital and with my husband and friends was enough to recharge my attitude and my soul. Besides, how many people get to celebrate their birthday by dancing the night away under the Eiffel Tower? (Never mind it was the Vegas version.) I guess life isn't so bad after all...

Vegas or Bust, I Guess

I'm probably the only person on Earth who dreads going to Vegas for her birthday. Most people look forward to a trip like this for weeks in advance. I constantly hear my coworkers excitedly planning what casinos they're going to hit and what clubs they'll dance in until dawn. Not me. Here I am, ready to hit the road at the break of dawn, sullenly wishing I was going anywhere but Sin City. I don't really expect anyone to feel sorry for me; it's just that I've been there (and done that) sooo many times before, and it's just not my scene.

Why go year after year, then? It's quite the conundrum. I could easily skip it, but if I want to spend my birthday weekend with my Mouse, I have no choice. This is a big work weekend for him; an event he can't afford to miss. And so, I begrudgingly tag along.

The sun hasn't even peaked out over the horizon yet, and I'm gassed up and ready to go. I'm headed east, through the suburban sprawl of inland California, into the Mojave Desert. Maybe my mood will lift along with the fog, and I'll be able to convince myself that this is going to be a good weekend, after all.

Cry If I Want To

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. I know those aren't exactly the words to that old song, but it's where I'm at today. It IS my birthday and I really do feel like crying. I really, truly do. It has nothing to do with aging or wrinkles, either, I swear. I actually like being smack-dab in the middle of my thirties, after all; finally feeling like I'm growing into who I was meant to be. No, this melancholy has more to do with loneliness and disappointment than anything else, and I'm not even sure why.

The loneliness makes sense, I guess, as my husband is hundreds of miles away. It would have been nice to get more than a birthday-morning phone call. A cuddle or kiss would have meant the world. That's all a part of long-distance love, though, and I know better than to dwell on the maudlin. Besides, we're meeting up in Las Vegas tomorrow. Shouldn't that make me excited?

The disappointment is what really baffles me. I'm not even sure how high I've set my expectations to make me feel so deflated. I didn't even have plans for the day, and yet it turned out to be pleasant enough - wine lunch with the roomie, followed by a lax night with the bestie. And still, I'm left feeling thoroughly bummed, like there should have been something more...

Maybe my work-induced exhaustion is just getting to me. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning. In any event, I'm ready to sleep this birthday off, and forget it ever arrived. Humph.