Petty

Today, after an extraordinarily long writing hiatus, I feel compelled to return here to quote two great American wordsmiths: My mom, and Tom Petty.

In the immortal words of my mother, “if you can’t say anything nice, then shut up.” (Is this ironic to anyone else?)

Herein lies the excuse for not writing for lo these last three weeks. I haven’t had a single thing nice to say. Yes, I have been insanely busy at my job, working non-stop days from 7-7 and coming home, shoveling food in my face and falling asleep at 9 p.m. (true story…) And so finding the time has been difficult, yes. But honestly, more than that, I’ve just been angry, and truly felt like everything I had to say needed to be self-censored.

Basically, I put myself in a timeout.

Angry is a hard emotion for me. I rarely, rarely get really mad, and when I do, I don’t know what to do with it. It sneaks up on me like a lion on the prowl on the savanna who pounces with no warning from behind on its prey. And I’m just a poor unsuspecting zebra, swatting flies and just trying to get in a decent day’s work at the watering hole.

Now all the other iterations of the angry I do for sure. Those I know: I get frustrated. I’ll sometimes get flustered and often impatient. And I know disappointment intimately. But all-out, pants-on-fire-pissed-off…I just don’t really do much. Not normally.

But here I am, squinting my eyes suspiciously and shaking my head slowly while pointing my finger at everyone I see, scowl plastered on my mug, on the verge of saying something I don’t really mean almost every minute of the day. My Army wife friend K told me that as deployment time came and went that it would be predictable, these angry waves of emotion…and that right before J came home I would lose my mind. You win again, K. You win again.

When J left for over there, the two weeks leading up to his leaving were miserable for me—by far the hardest. Because everything was completely unknown—up in the air. We had no routine, we had no schedule and we swam in an ocean of uncertainty without even a set of Dora waterwings. And we never really knew if TODAY was the day he was going to leave or whether or not it was another day for him to haul ass over to wait some more. I hated this time. My heart permanently lived in my throat, directly underneath whatever it was I had eaten that day and was convinced that my nerves would cause me to vomit across the room at any given moment (I’ll let that image sink in a minute for you…There it is.)

Now that we are “inside the window of return time” we’re back to the waiting game that I’m so bad at (by the way, “inside the window of return time” is the vaguest most ridiculous, most unhelpful measure of time ever put forth in the history of ever… worse than a score…way worse than a fortnight.) And I’m back to being on edge. Constantly.

And while the emails I’ve been getting from the FRG should be making me feel better, they just make me mad. (I mock them…I can’t help it. I’m know I’m being really petty, but there it is.) “Join us to help make posters for your soldier’s return!” No. I don’t think so. I don’t want to. And you can’t make me. He doesn’t even like posters (my impression of a 4-year-old, Army wife, apparently. Oh… there’s a joke in there that I’m going to let go for now. Restraint.) And the email that said “We hope you’re getting excited for your soldier’s return!” Really? Is that what you hope? I seriously came so close to writing back and saying “Nah, not really. I don’t really even like him very much…” You *hope* I’m excited? Sigh…annnnnd eye-roll. (Eye-rolls—also a very good passive aggressive angry tool I’m learning. We really all stay 4 years old somewhere inside of us our whole lives, don’t we?)

And by the way, if we’re making a list (I like lists…) of the worst days to spend alone when you’re “inside the window of return time” it’s definitely Valentine’s Day which happened this week too. And it’s funny-- it’s not because J and I really make a big deal out of Valentine’s Day. We don’t, and I don’t expect it. It’s that everyone else seems to. And when all day long you hear about the flowers and candy and reservations and everyone is gushing over their SUPER wonderful fill-in-the-blanks, well, insert exasperated face here (and an eye-roll for good measure.)

And then the conscientious ones realize what they have said, look at you all sad-like and fumble for something compensatory like “But he’ll be home soon though, right?” or better yet “You should take *yourself* out for a glass of wine tonight!” This did not help matters.

I pretty much wanted to punch everyone in the face on Valentine’s Day.

And of course because we are “inside the window” there was a small part of my heart that half believed that J would walk in the door… that I would be minding my own business at my desk, working away, and look up and there he’d be. These are silly daydreams, and I know better than to waste time indulging in them. But it was Valentine’s Day. And after all, contrary to popular opinion, I am a girl.

And of course, all of this feels taboo to say out loud. And as much as it feels good to get all of this off my chest here, I also don’t like sharing this part very much. I know that J reads these posts, and compared to what he is doing, I know that I have it so so easy. I don’t want to complain and I don’t want him to feel badly. I just miss him and I’m ready for him to be home. And I hate waiting.

But…I wait anyway. And I sigh a lot. And as you read this, I’m probably also rolling my eyes at someone. But let me also give you a few reassurances.

I am fine. And I will be finer soon. Please understand that I already know that I’m being petty and self-indulgent here and that I will happily snap out of it sometime in the “window” of the next couple of weeks. This is not a permanent State of Grumble. (I know people who could be the Governor of the State of Grumble… This is not me.) And please don’t think I don’t recognize the love and support of my friends and family. I soo do. I know you’re there. And I couldn’t have made it this far without you.

But all that said, until J comes home, please do not ask me for a countdown, for I no longer know (note its removal from the top of this entry…another reason I haven’t felt like writing, as this originated as a way to countdown to his return. Since I don’t have a countdown, that part feels useless…)

I’m just waiting now. And while I do that, it’s the words of the great Tom Petty that are running through my head. It’s true:

The waiting is the hardest part; Everyday, you get one more yard. You take it on faith, you take it to the heart…The waiting is the hardest part.

Yessir. It is.