guilt

I met The Fiancé at work, in case you didn’t know. Long story short: I had a crush on him, but he was soooo not my type, so I struggled internally with it for a bit. He was just sooo nice. And – after all the men I had dated being sooo not nice – I couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He was cute and sweet, and did I mention sooo nice?

Six months after I started that job he finally asked me out on a date. I remember being so excited, but at the same time wondering if he just wanted to go have drinks/dinner as coworkers or if he was asking me out on an actual date. I was confused!

You see, I was a serial dater not too long ago. And, yes. I did the online dating thing. I met so many men who were lame as hell and I met a few I really liked. But mostly I met them online. So being asked out by a coworker was weird for me. Very, very weird. I just didn’t ever meet men in the traditional ways (traditional meaning pre-Internet dating ways).

Turns out he’d had a crush on me, too, and it was a real date. And we’ve been together ever since. 2 months ago he proposed in New Orleans – on our anniversary trip, almost 1 year after our first weekend trip together there.

The fact that we met at work is significant to this because our jobs required us to travel two weeks out of the month. We moved in together a short 5 months after we started dating, because it just made sense financially. And, well, we wanted to live together. We were spending all of our time together anyway, so why not?

But, as things go, the week after he proposed I accepted a new job with a company closer to home. Better position, more money, no more of that jackass micromanager I worked for, and – another added bonus – some separation of work and home. Not that it was bad working with The Fiancé – it never was. Although it only took about 6 months for people to figure it out, we barely talked in the office. Being on the same team made it a little odd, but we were both committed to maintaining professionalism and not letting our relationship follow us to the office. So it was pretty ok.

But – here I am – a 36 year old, perpetually single woman who has had full reign of all things solo for years…and I was one of those people who loved living alone. I’d adjusted. I was cool with it. Beyond cool with it – I really liked it! Then, suddenly, I’m in this relationship I’m super excited about and very happy to be in! But…I’ve lost my space. My space was now our space. And while I wanted it, it was hard to adjust to living with someone else and taking his needs into consideration at every turn.

We had the travel. My alone time. I missed him while we were both jetting off to random places around the US, but I loved my alone time. I loved sleeping alone again! And when you’re in a serious, committed, loving and wonderful relationship people don’t understand when you admit that. But I had been alone for years and I loved sleeping alone!

So, after we got engaged I gave my notice and started my new job. I would still get to travel, but this time I’d go when I want and where I want. No more micromanager bullshit. No more 23 mile commutes with my fiancé. I was able to do my thing.

Getting started with this new job meant I wouldn’t get to travel at first and oh, how I missed the energy of the airport and sleeping in random hotels and eating at random places if researched on yelp. I was dying to get back on the road.

And all the while The Fiancé was still traveling. He was still waking up for 7:30am flights every other Monday. And while I was jealous that I wasn’t flying out the next day, I was so damn excited to have 5 days to do whatever I wanted. In my own home!

This has now been going on for 2 months and I totally miss my travel. But I also love my new job and I’m gearing up to start traveling again. Next month I’ll be away from home for 10 days at the beginning of July and then again in the middle of July to head to Boston.

All this background info to say that on the Sundays before The Fiancé goes on a trip (like today) he starts stressing hard. He doesn’t love the travel like I do. He puts up with it. And he gets super clingy and asks me 100 times if I’m going to miss him.

Umm…if you don’t stop asking me the answer will be NO!

What he fails to realize is that I’m used to two weeks away, because when I was doing that same job we both flew out on the same Monday mornings. Now, it seems, he has been feeling some kind of way about me being home while he’s traveling instead of me being in some random place like him.

I swear to jesiis if I heard “Aren’t you going to miss me?” one more time this weekend I was going to stab my head with one of my stilettos. Of course I’m going to miss him! But do I need to tell you every 5 seconds!?

I started feeling guilty. I mean, yeah. I was super excited for a week alone. A week I could sleep diagonally across my (I mean, OUR) king-sized bed. I was excited to not have to make a carb for dinner that I’d inevitably want to eat even though while he’s gone I do sooo good not eating carbs. I looked forward to not answering “Hey babe, what’s for dinner?” Even though I absolutely love cooking and wouldn’t have it any other way.

So I just feel guilty. For wanting to enjoy my week alone when he so obviously is going to miss me like a kid misses cake.

I had to break it down for him. “Honey, of course I’m going to miss you. I always do! But back when I was traveling on the same schedule as you, you didn’t get so upset about things. You were fine knowing I had to get up at 3am to make my 7am flight, while you could sleep til 5. You didn’t care because I was doing the same thing you were. Now you’re feeling all clingy because you have to leave and I get to stay here. Trust me – I was just as happy to go then as I am to stay now. It’s not about not wanting you here! It’s about being used to having two weeks that I can do whatever I want! This never bothered you before.”

And he got it. Yup, he got it. I haven’t changed, just my travel schedule. And he doesn’t realize that I would much rather be out pounding the runway like he is!

Tomorrow morning he leaves. And I don’t care that this may sound wrong – I’m so happy to have a week to myself again. In my bed. With my kitty. Not missing him any less, but loving the little freedom anyway.

Because – really. I’m not doing so much different when he’s gone than if he were here. I just don’t have to hear 8,000 questions about dinner and weekend plans and why the cat is acting that way. I get to just relax. Sans questions. I get to just chill and watch trash tv and not have to hear about his to-do list.

This is what happens when someone living in a as hoc world (me) falls in love with an anal planner.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I am so, so glad for the break. And by Friday I will be dyyying for him to just get home!

Sent from my iPhone