Mondays are painful enough on a routine basis; Monday after a week of vacation is downright excruciating. I originally planned on taking a trip with Gary last week, but we ended up enjoying being at home together so much, we just stayed home for the week.
He told me yesterday, “I was afraid we would get on each other’s nerves after a while, but I had a blast with you all week.”
I laughed because I had worried about the same thing. I am a person who very much values my alone time, and I wasn’t sure how an entire week together was going to play out.
How it played out was like this: staying up late. Laughing. Making up songs for each other. Starting our Christmas shopping together. Snuggling in bed until the sun was long up and it was pushing lunch time before we had breakfast. Spending time together in a way we don’t usually have the luxury of doing. Going out on a Saturday date. A lot of “I love you”s.
Yesterday Gary helped a friend move, and instead of reveling in the time alone, I ended up watching the clock and wishing he was home. I found myself surprised at feeling that way: I have always been a bit of a loner, have been called “too independent” by more than one boyfriend, and have just never wanted to spend so much time with another person.
Finding someone who is a friend, truly a best friend, is something I believe doesn’t happen more than once. So much had to happen in the background for Gary and I to come together, so many rows of dominoes had to be tipped over, and I can’t help believing it wasn’t chance.
I’m back at work today. Getting out of bed, climbing out of Gary’s arms, was difficult. I’m glad we didn’t take any trips or fill our vacation week with itineraries and tours and travel. I’m glad we spent it right at home, just enjoying day to day moments with each other and re-learning to appreciate and treasure our time together.