Two Homes, Half a Spouse

Sometimes I feel like half a spouse.

I go back and forth, forgetting to write the rent check, leaving my chores half-finished, overcompensating with homemade bread and candlelit dinners.

Sometimes I come back for a night, watch Jerry play, and then I’m gone in the morning. Jerry says it feels like a dream. I’m awake when I leave, so I remember.

It’s hard sometimes, this living in two places. I never feel like I’m doing enough at home, wherever home is.

I’m lucky to have a husband and half a dozen roommates who are always glad to see me when I walk in the door, even if it’s been a while, and I left a cereal bowl in the sink three days ago when I was running for the 6:30 Megabus.

But sometimes I wish I just had one home, and I could take care of it better.

Sometimes I think that if I only lived in one place, I could stick around enough to make sourdough starter, join a CSA and put my name on the waiting list for a community garden. I think of the dog I want to have, and the baby I want to have even more.

Maybe right now is a time to recognize that I need help to do all these things. That I can to ask Jerry or my roommates to feed the starter or pick up the CSA and trust that I’ll pick up the slack when I get home.

I don’t think they’ll let me take a dog on the Megabus though.

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