Empty bed

In the three plus years that we've been married, Michael and I have only slept apart at most a smattering of days that can be counted with my fingers. Once, because we were fighting, and we both woke up alone in the middle of the night and met each other in the hallway asking for the other to come to bed. For my sister's high school graduation, for each of my bar exams, for the first day of his (I drove up the second day because I couldn't sleep without him) - and that's it.

I hated sleeping with another person before I met him. I hated the feel of another person's breath on my neck while I was trying to sleep. I hated the feel of another person's body generating warmth in the coolness of the cotton sheets. I couldn't sleep with someone else in the bed.

Tonight, he is out of town to deal with an incredibly uncomfortable situation that has been brewing for over a year. Tonight, I will sleep alone, in a house that creaks in the night. A house in a neighborhood that I am unfamiliar with, in an area where I feel foreign.

Actually, tonight I won't sleep. I can't sleep without him there.

I already miss him.

I sound pathetic.