The First Night

I hate the first night.

Yesterday, when the call for the tickets finally came through, I appealed to my principal to find an emergency sub to cover my class today so that I could take the day off. I only get two personal days a year, and they have to be requested a week in advance, at least. And they are RARELY approved for the second week of school. Seeing my rather agitated (okay, weepy) state, my principal suggested, "You know, some people get sick over stuff like this. Don't you feel sick?"

I didn't get it. I shook my head, "no."

She repeated, "I think you might, I think you might get sick tomorrow..."

OH!

She suggested I take half a personal day, half a sick day. She told me the assistant principal could write me an emergency personal leave slip. So then I had to repeat my story yet again. She said, "It's definitely an illness. We'll call it a family illness. I'll put it in, you get your sub plans together and then go home. We'll see you Friday."

It's wonderful to have people like that willing to cover for you. I hate getting upset at work. I cry easily, but I NEVER cry at work. There's the personal me and the professional me. The one that cries is NOT the profesional me. Ugh.

Last night, we went to dinner, Kevin's pick, at Azar's. When we got home, there was just enough time to make the round of phone calls before we both collapsed in bed.

This morning, both of us woke at about 6:30. It was a strange morning of routine, trying to act as if it was a normal day. Shower, coffee, a few routine chores necessary before a deployment and then it was 10:00 and time to leave. A stop at an office on base to pick up the flight itinerary, and by 11:15 we were at the base airport. Kevin asked if I would go in and wait with him while he checked in. I had to say no. Standing there, prolonging the inevitable, would have stripped all composure I had left. So we said goodbye in the parking lot of the base airport...and then he was gone.

By 12:00, I was home.

Since then, I've been on high speed. I cleaned, I graded papers, I rewrote my lesson plan outlines, I scrapbooked, did a load of dishes. I avoided thinking about the fact that it's just me and the kitties for the next 10 weeks. I avoided thinking about what I was going to do tonight.

The thing is, the night comes anyway. When I was single, I couldn't imagine sharing a bed, every night, for the rest of my life. I needed my space. I liked having that space to myself. Now I have a hard time sleeping alone. The first night is the worst. I've run myself ragged keeping my mind and body occupied today, and now that I'm physically tired, my mind is free to think.

My hat goes off to those women who do this for 20, 30 years, for six months to a year at a time. How do they do that?

The answer, I think, is, "One day at a time."