Ok, so he did not get the spot and will be coming home in (approximately) five weeks instead of two. Any of you out there who have been or are going through this thing will know exactly how much of a gaping difference this makes in one's inner calendar.
If another civilian says to me, "Well, he'll be home soon either way," or any variation on that, I will zap them with my hidden ray gun, set to stun.
Actually, I'm doing ok; I've had two days to come to terms. And I pretty much ate my weight in junk food. That definitely helped.
"I'm going to go out and eat whatever I want!" I wrote to Keith, after I found out. "Take that, deployment!! Ha!"
It's the little things, you know?
It did help to know something, anything, for sure. We'd been waiting so long to hear confirmation that time seemed to completely stop. This was appalling to me. I would pass through several days and feel nothing, no different. I'm so close to the end now that a single day usually makes a huge impact on my perspective. To have entire days pass by and mean nothing felt like blasphemy.
So at least things are moving again and according to my original calculations, the ones I had before I hoped for better, we are actually moving right along. I actually know the approximate week that he will be home, I have marked a series of days on the calendar.
But this week? This week is dead to me. This week sleeps with the fishes for all I care. Now I'm going to go slip on my string bikini and sunbathe. Oh yeah, and later I'll try and work off an entire "family" sized bag of chips and one entire container of brownie batter ice cream. Damn, but it was good though.
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