We have a week left before Carl deploys to the desert. Have I mentioned that to you all? I am sure I have... yes, he is deploying for 365 days-for those who have a hard time with simple math, that equals one year.
It is always a horrible place to be in when you have a good-bye looming over your head. I want to make everything a pleasant memory, but that doesn't always work out. My heart wants bunnies and rainbows and my brain demands hand grenades and sword fights. I think it is a way of protecting myself... I am talking about the numerous fights we seem to be getting into for no apparent reason lately. Something inside of me is very messed up to think that it will be easier to say good-bye to him if I am pissed off because he left his boxer shorts on the back of the toilet tank instead of tossing them in the hamper.
Usually his little quirks blow over me like a light breeze, but the past few days have been different. I about threw his toothbrush away this morning because I don't know why he can't just put it away like a normal human being. Why does he have to leave it dripping on the sink so that I have to go back and wipe up the water spot? And then there are his tennis shoes. They are big and he leaves them at the foot of my side of the bed. Every night I trip over them when I get up to go pee. Why does he do this? Is he trying to make me insane? Don't even get me started on all of the desert gear that is strewn across the house right now because he is getting ready to pack. He has been getting ready to pack for a month now... just pack! Get the crap out of my eyesight so that my brain does not explode when I look at one more pair of military boots sitting in my formal dining room!
I know, I know, you are saying "Man June-you are not nice. Give the guy a break!" I get that... and I have been trying my hardest to give him a break, but then my heart will break even more the day he leaves.
You don't understand. My best friend is leaving for a year. Not just a week, or a month... a year. The depth of my sorrow in this matter cannot even be described on a simple blog. I want to scream "Don't Go!" but I can't. It is his job-his life. I know that all of the little things that are driving me batty right now (like the fact that when he drives my van he turns off the radio and the air conditioning so when I get in and start to drive down the street I suddenly realize that I am sweating like a pig and my favorite tune is not playing.) are just a defense mechanism for my heart-the heart that wants bunnies and rainbows but is going to get a lot of pain in a week when he goes.
What am I going to do?