Home Sweet Home

I was away from home for 76 days. That would be two and a half months of living in a hotel, eating out, talking to my husband and son using video conferencing, and basically being alone. It was 74 days of not seeing my husband or son in person. It was 22 weekend days of trying to communicate over the phone and in chat about business and trying to get it done while hundreds of miles away. It was 54 work week days of waking exhausted, then going to bed the same way. Now, one would think that this would make me more productive since I didn’t have to worry about cleaning and cooking, but with the changes in my schedules, the hectic stress at work and so forth, I found that I couldn’t concentrate at all most days. I found myself craving company, listening to music or just sleeping. It wasn’t to pass the time, because it didn’t seem as though there were enough hours in the day even with the limits in distractions. I didn’t have my son coming into my office every five minutes asking for something, I didn’t have my husband asking me stuff. I didn’t have to worry about dinner or about cleaning the house, but I also didn’t have the energy to get done what needed to get done. I’ve fallen behind on many things, and even though I had prepared contingency plans, I find that it’s much more difficult to carry them out when you are hundreds of miles from home. I suppose part of this is just the depression that sets in when you aren’t comfortable or happy, when your thoughts are hundreds of miles away, no matter how much you try to school them. Maybe it was the unfamiliar territory as well, but I know this. I’m much more appreciative of my crazy life having been away for as long as I was than when I started.

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