My husband has been in Iraq now for 20 days.  In anticipation of his deployment, I was preparing to be constantly anxious, worried, on edge.  Surprisingly, the expected anxiety has yet to rear its distressing head.  I think this is mostly because I don’t know what Glen is doing.  Because his assignments are classified and he’s not at liberty to talk about the events that fill his days, I live under the assumption that he stays on the base and lifts weights and makes fart jokes with other guys. 

Obviously, this isn’t true, but I’ve maintained such a distance from the war that imagining the atrocities over there is like contemplating the universe; scary for awhile and then so overwhelming that you give up in search of something more tangible…like bacon.  My days are full of bacon. 

My main concern has been, now that he’s been gone for three weeks, that six months is a long-ass time.  I was treating this time frame like it was just a drop in the bucket.  (Don’t get all philosophical on me.  I understand that six months, in terms of LIFESPAN, is a drop in the bucket.)  But six months full of life by myself on my own seems startlingly incomprehensible.  Is the time moving quickly?  I’d say “yes”, for the most part.  However, there has been little pleasure and a lot of responsibility in the last few weeks.  There isn’t a profound sense of separation right now, but missing him weighs on me.