The wedding occurred, the honeymoon took place, home for a week and then I left my brand new husband to spend two weeks with my other true love, Camp Jabberwocky. Whirlwind feels like an understatement. Wonderwhirlwind, is a bit warmer.
I returned and hubby-pants (still working on new married nicknames) treated me delicately and said something to the tune of, “well, often when you return from camp you need a little space.” I feel like this time, I didn’t need space but it doesn’t mean the return from borogoves didn’t, per usual, require some adjustment.
I have, for seven years, tried to figure out what exactly is the cause of the camp to home complicated transition . The list of ideas has included: having to feed myself, having no butts but my own to wipe, lack of beaches, doing my own laundry, missing salmon colored pants, no bells to tell me when I need to be somewhere, ice cream withdrawal and the disturbing absence of simultaneously hilarious and horrifically inappropriate moments.
I finally realized today, that it is not complicated at all. It is simply more lonely here. Even with friends and parents and now (fantastically) hunk-band and cat, real life can’t compare to the overwhelming amount of people, togetherness and hugging that I get at Jabberwocky. Marcus would have to follow me around and hug me every 10 minutes to keep my buzz going and it turns out his boss doesn’t qualify that as, “working.” Grouch.
Photographic evidence. This is during a supposed rest period. Count it, 4 semi-adults and one Godfather of Soul sharing a top bunk, just another typical afternoon.
Quite a contrast to today when I drove to work (alone) sat in my office (mostly alone) and had lunch out (all alone). I guess I could start hugging my coworkers or start having Dugger-esq amounts of babies to force cuddle. Or I GUESS I’ll just suck it up, stalk hubbs for extra hugs and hang on until next year.