Part Nine

Thursday, October 7th
I came home today to two huge boxes of flowers—a birthday present from Dan. He also managed to call me today.

This time last year, Dan’s vacation had just started and we were headed to California to visit friends. He was on alert for activation and deployment and had to get special permission to leave the state. “Normal” life has been disrupted for a year—this is now normal, and I can’t really remember what it’s like to live with my husband. Strange.

Wednesday, October 13th
My yard is going to be classified as a national forest soon—it hasn’t been mowed since the week before Dan got home—and my lawnmower won’t run. Again. Every time I have gone out to mow the yard for the last six months the lawnmower has refused to start, or it’s had a flat, or both, and my yard has been a jungle for most of the summer. Over the course of the summer, we’ve replaced the battery, put in a new ignition, replaced the pressure switches, installed a fuel shut-off valve to solve the fuel-in-the-oil problem, repaired and filled the rear tire. Each time that solves the problem, until the next time I go out to mow blasted yard, when it won’t run. Again! Further evidence that Murphy knew what he was talking about.

Wednesday, October 20th
Dan’s been back in Iraq for a month already. Because I didn’t so much integrate him back into my life as drop everything to spend time with him while he was home, it didn’t take much adjusting to get used to life without him again—it’s like he was just never here. But somehow, at the same time, it got harder to keep all the pieces together when he left. I go from fine, with just a hint of underlying melancholy, to completely not fine, in about a second and a half, and it doesn’t take much to flip the switch. I hate it—if I’d had the making of myself I would have made me the strong, silent type—but I don’t seem to be able to do anything about it.

Two of the big things that tend to flip the switch are the U.S. presidential race and the situation in Iraq—they're sort of scrambled up together in my mental file-folders. I hate talking and thinking about them, but can't stay away from them either, like a moth to a flame. My stress level is high enough that, when it encounters one of those subjects, my brain just shuts down, and negative emotions take over.

Wednesday, October 27th
I thought it was weird when we had Thanksgiving in October last year, but Christmas in October is even weirder. The Post Office says that anything we want to get to an APO address by Christmas ought to be mailed by November 1st, which means I’ve been Christmas shopping even before the department stores put up their Christmas decorations.

This Saturday I’m getting together with M and T to bake cookies and put together Christmas packages for our sweeties. I guess I ought to try to dig out some Christmas music and try to find the wrapping paper. But first I have to do the rest of my shopping for Dan. He’s hard to shop for anyway, but now I can’t get him anything “fragile-liquid-perishable-or-bigger-than-seventy-two-inches-in-length-and-girth-combined.” He can’t wear civvies, he has access to more movies than he knows what to do with, he hasn’t run out of books yet, and he’s tired of beef jerky, which I thought could never happen. Maybe if I wander through the mall one more time I’ll think of something . . . .