|Photo of Monsieur Heston from Google images.|
I started counting down officially at 100 days. 100 days left living in the desert. 100 days until my two years apart from Mr. T wrapped up. 100 days until I could actually live* with the man I married. With three days left (THREE!), I’m in a mood of reflection.
On two years of long distancing: It could’ve been worse, I suppose. It’s not like I was Moses wandering around the desert for a few decades, but this being apart thing has not been a rocking good time. It just wears on a person, the not being there. For me, it’s the little moments. Waking up next to T. Making dinner on Wednesday night. Coffee dates with my best friend. Spontaneous meals with family. Those things are hard to accomplish from 800 miles away. But, as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve been extraordinarily fortunate to fly home every other week. My hat is off to true long distancers who go months and years without seeing their loved ones.
On two years actually living in a desert: It was 105 yesterday. I am NOT sad to escape before the real scorching sets in. Stay tuned for a Thursday 13 with hot tips for surviving desert life (pun intended).
On two years of PhD school: Hot damn, I’m half a PhD! I’ve also never been so tired in my entire life. I spent a good 10 minutes deciding on the first sentence of this post and then another 10 minutes staring out the window and then another 10, well you get the idea. After writing 85-ish pages of academic term papers in the last month, these synapses aren’t firing so hot lately, BUT, I am done with another year and ready to celebrate. Mr. T has upgraded me from Doctorette to Doctoretta, and I’ve got pool + nachos + girltime schedule for this afternoon.
On two more years of PhD school: Prayers please. Next up: comprehensive exams and then The Big D.
On two more days to pack: Yeah, enough blogging and back to packing. Gotta fit an entire apartment into my Corolla-mobile. Wish me luck.
* Within a week of getting back from our honeymoon in August, I took off for Cactus Land. One of these days I’ll crackulate how many days I’ve actually shared the same space with T since getting hitched. My guess? Less than 75.
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