But overall, I'm enjoying the company over dinner, My Idiot Brother, cocktails with Mr. Wookie's fellow Junior Officers (I can't believe how much I've missed them), and the new magnet that graces the fridge.
I was lucky enough to get Friday off from work in order to spend some quality time with Mr. Wookie.
I couldn't have felt less emotion over missing work on Friday. Work shwork!
But now we're back to the grindstone this morning as we're both off to earn our incomes. It's still TBD whether the hours during the short time home will be semi-decent or hard-charging to keep up the pace until their next training exercise. So will we have next weekend together? Or will Mr. Wookie have weekend flights and a grumpy attitude?
Mostly this weekend has been reflective. It's hard to imagine, but we've been in the (semi) great state of California for just shy of two years. In that time frame, I've worked three different jobs (one as a temp that I kicked to the curb, one a real job that faltered with the economy - so I jumped ship, and where I'm at now - happy as a clam), we've welcomed a beloved pooch and too-soon said goodbye (and we love you), there have been dozens of wine corks, a few hangovers, and a couple broken picture frames (that was the last time we host Mr. Wookie's co-workers over). There have been countless tears, buckets of drool, sheer moments of happiness, and a quizzical first six months into this duty station.
The Navy - it's definitely a learning period. Just when you think you have the hang of it as a domesticated attache, it throws you a new curve ball of new emotions.
So while it took me a good 2-3 weeks to find my "happy place" as Mr. Wookie was playing in the water, I finally did find something that was semi-comfortable. Although the Resident Caveman doesn't understand what all the hubbub is about. "You're home and you have access to alcohol." Ahhh yes, because that alone suffices my needs. I don't need human interaction, when I can talk to the TV. I don't need dinner company, because I enjoy slaving away in the kitchen for one. Instead, I fought with myself for those first few weeks knowing I could be alone, but not trusting myself that "I've got this." Up until that point, my inner monologue was whiny and wimpy. But then the pity party packed up and I found my routine of weekly library trips, cooking every 2 to 3 days of real food then just reheating leftovers to make life easy, and finding weeding the flowerbeds to be the perfect excuse for an ice-cold beer.
Let's just hope this happiness continues beyond his next bag is packed and he walks out the door.