On Monday May 18th . . .

I'll be driving him to the airport in two and a half hours. 3:30AM. He'll catch a flight to Denver to LA then Seoul then Ho Chi Minh City. He'll be gone for three weeks touring all of Vietnam from one end to the other with eleven other students and two bearded anthropology professors, helping to film streets infested with whirring mopeds and vendors, figuring out the act of chopsticks and rice (isn't it lift the bowl and scoop?), nervous around communists, disliking chaotic cities, celebrating his 38th birthday. Really, I have no idea what he'll be seeing. Neither does he. Tonight, we've watched The Wrestler and waited for our toddler to fall asleep. The Wrestler made me shrug.

He's packed minimally. Now, he's pacing the house and rummaging for sunscreen.

I haven't been by myself for so long in years. We have never been apart from each other for more than 48 hours. I'm tempted to break down. I think about crying a little - being left here, jobless with one last check coming, taking care of the house, finishing up that massive mountain of laundry, taking care of three teenagers who like to argue and can manipulate me way too easily and a four year old who is addicted to computer games, possibly his chain-smoking 17 year-old stepdaughter with her turquoise faux-hawk dropping in if she feels like it and always wanting things on her terms, taking care of the dog, likely letting the dog fill his empty space on our king size bed. But I don't break down. Just don't. Never have. I'll be fine. I know the trip overseas could be life-altering for him. And maybe I'll be a better person too come the end of it. I keep thinking it will remind me of something.

On Sunday May 24th . . .

This morning, I finally received an e-mail from my husband. I quote: "This is so out of character, but I have been drunk every night. College kids?!?" Yikes. I smell mid-life crisis in full swing. ;) He says he bought a Rolex from a street vendor for $14. He says Hoi An is beautiful. I am so fucking jealous.

The mountain of laundry is gone. Of course, there will be more.

The dog hair in the corners is gone. But, there will be more.

Sleep sucks.

I have read nothing aside from an Entertainment magazine. Eminem is making a come back after being addicted to pain killers. Who cares?

And, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't felt much like writing. Instead I've been watching old 80's movies or playing Pop Cap games. Last night, myself and my daughters went on a desperate search in the Castleton Mall for a two-piece swimsuit that could support a set of ample breasts (they're not mine). From this trip, I learned. Also, the capitalism (the tall ceilings in Dick's, the Macy's Memorial Day Sale, the skinny mannequins, the spending crowd and their ritzy purses) made my stomach upset - or maybe it was the Fruitlatti and the Asian Bourbon chicken . . .

Wednesday of next week I'm going to a job fair. I really don't want to have to work at Marsh or Meijer for the summer. :(

I wish I had it in me to do some self-cleansing. I don't even get a moment alone to meditate. Being "by myself" was an allusion. Funny how I was scared of it. I can't even shower in peace. I thought maybe I'd quit smoking (again, for real this time) while Matt was gone - no luck. I'm loving the personal moments. Oddly enough, I'm clinging to the teenagers. How do I cure such a thing? The coffee's not working.