slowly, slowly, I can feel myself coming back. The me of the days before bar prep- the me who laughed easily and rarely said "no, I can't."
It is taking me longer than I expected to come back to myself. As much as this enrages the feminist in me, part of this is because TheMan wasn't home until Saturday. The three days I was alone after the exam, I walked around the empty apartment like a zombie, going through the motions of cleaning, making dinner, still carrying the weight of the test everywhere I went.
As we sat at dinner after I picked him up at the airport, I felt the layers of stress and tension peel off of me. I looked across the table and saw my husband again- my friend, not just that guy who insisted I leave my desk and go eat something.
It's a rather humbling revelation, to know that I can't even get back to being "me" on my own. Just like that old Beatles song, I get by with a little help from my friends (just, um, human friends, not pills)...
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