…bygones

When you wake up at 5am crying. It’s not going to be a good day.

I’ve been hopeful all week..spritely, even. But today I just feel the sheer an utter unfairness of this situation. Monday was our 1 month anniversary. Great way to spend my first month of married life.

Kev and I went to Vegas. It was excellent; full of lights and a buzz and an ‘anything could happen’ atomosphere’. We went on the New York New York Rollercoaster twice. I was hoarse the next day from screaming the entire time.

And when we got ‘home’ we knew our time together would be short and we tried to enjoy every possible second of it together.

But now it just seems like a distant memory. The laughter, the cuddling, it’s all in memory. I tried to remember this morning what it’s like to wake up next to him and I found myself abhorring the empty space next to me.

I tried to remember that place where his neck and shoulder meet, a perfectly molded spot where I can nuzzle my head, the feel of his heartbeat, his smell, his warmth. I was cold when I woke up, pulling my extra quilt over me, I thought about how I would not be cold if he were here.

But I don’t want him here. I want to be there.

My hope, my positivity has gone on vacation today. I checked my email and I have nothing from the British Consulate waiting for me. I have no email reply from the Home Secretary, who I’d written to earlier this week. Are my emails even being received? How can I convey my sense of desperation to them? How can I educate them on what it means that I’ve spent this time alone, without my new husband?

I keep thinking about my doorbell (when ye gonna ring it? When ye gonna ring it?). Please Mr UPS man, please bring me some news.

I think about packing up my things, giddy with happiness that I’ll be going home.

I think about walking through those sliding doors at Glasgow international airport, and Kev’s smiling face waiting for me on the other side.

And then I get the anger. What am I doing here? What purpose does it serve making me wait in one country when my husband is in another? What sort of torture is this? I’m not a criminal. I’m not a terrorist or a drug dealer or a con artist. I just want to get home to my baby.

I feel like staying in bed all day. I feel like staying in bed until I get my visa and my passport and my purpose.

What does it matter if I get dressed today? What will it matter if I don’t do anything at all today, and just mope around the house? What good will it do? What harm could it do?

I think I will go back to bed. Screw this. If they’re not going to email me today, then it doesn’t matter if I check my email every five minutes.