I'm sitting here in my pink pjs, the windows are open, the dog's eating dinner, and Jen and Elyssa are out for the evening. And I'm overwhelmed by how much I wish I was waiting for you to get off work tonight. I think it's having the windows open - that is normal for us, so this feels like real life. And I so want you to come home tonight.
About those open windows:
The lightening crashed, the thunder roared - and I don't know about any little pigs laying down and dying, but the temperature dropped from 94 to 68, and it's wonderful. A very strong storm came through - hail, 80-mph winds with trees and power lines down, rotation and rumors of funnel clouds, and torrential rain. And the barometer dropped so far and fast that Jen has a monster headache and I'm having a fibro attack. But it's a small price to pay: THE WINDOWS ARE OPEN!
There's a pretty sunset, a nice cool breeze, the sound of crickets, the smell of fresh rain - it's wonderful. All that's missing is you. A year ago I'd have been watching the radar here and texting reports to you at work. I wondered tonight if I should call Panera and tell them that it was time to bring the umbrellas in, but decided that I really shouldn't.
I miss you most when the little, normal things happen. The big holidays and occasions aren't as bad, because I know they are coming. Having the windows open it such a small, every-day thing. And you're not part of my every-day life in the same way you were before. So I come here to talk to you. I don't think I've told you - some nights I find myself thinking, "Now, what time does John get work off tonight?" Right now I don't care what time it is - I'd be so happy for you to come home any time at all!
I love you, I miss you. This time you're waiting for me to come home - I'll be there as soon as I can.