No Secrets Here – Part 7

Replying to Daniel, while I urgently want to tell him all my news, isn’t realistically possible.  Tuesday morning I plan to get to work early.  I intend to pull together the materials on which Aaron and I brain-stormed on Monday night before I left work as to which procedures Monica should have exposure before our week of training ends.  My response to Daniel, typed while sitting on the toilet Tuesday morning, is all I can pull together.

Hi handsome!

Sorry, I still have no concept of the time difference.  Didn’t you mention there’s a random half hour between here and there?

Work is super busy this week, which I suppose helps make the time go faster.  I’ll fill you in when I have time, but for now, just know I am well, and I miss you terribly.

I love you!


The only editing I manage is to correct the typos while I brush my teeth before hitting send.  I hope he knows how much I miss him despite the quick email.  I plan to write more Tuesday night, but I fall asleep on the couch when I set my dinner down on the coffee table.


I am so far away from the master suite, I never hear the alarm go off and instead the wind kicking up its heels outside wakes me.  When I climb the stairs to the bedroom to get ready, I notice a fresh layer of snow in addition to the gusts, and any free time, as if there is any, will be spent on my short, but sloppy commute.  There won’t be time to type up another response to his original email, which turns out for the best since he didn’t write again to let me know all is quiet where he is, and I don’t want to sound sappy and lonesome if he doesn’t have time to write either.

Wednesday night, I at least manage to fix a meal and do the dishes like an adult, but I give up on anything more and fall asleep feeling equal parts tired and lonely.  Now I wake up on Thursday, missing him just as much as when I fell asleep.  At least today I set my alarm thirty minutes early, and although I still only got up fifteen minutes ahead of when I intend, at least I will have a few minutes to write him.

Oh Daniel,

I miss you.  I miss hearing from you.  I miss sharing my day with you, eating a meal with you, and falling asleep next to you.

It’s cold and snowy here – spring just won’t commit to anything more than the decent drive we had on Saturday to Billings.  Was that really only five days ago?  Feels like so much longer.

I might stop at the store tonight and by a pie, just because I could really use some.  I love you and hope you are safe and warm.



I didn’t tell him why I need pie.  He probably will think I am missing him terribly, which I am, but more than anything, I am overwhelmed with all the activity at work.  In truth, I don’t have time to stop at the store, as evidenced by the pathetic meals I am heating up.  I don’t think I relied on a diet this sparse since we first met.  Honestly, if it wasn’t for his culinary skills, I might not have even survived my first Wyoming winter.

All the way back on Saturday – was that really just five days ago – when I broke down over his recent departure, I decided I would build myself a cocoon, a safe shelter in the midst of our expansive home, much like I have utilized at other times in my life when I forced myself to be brave.

I pulled my old pup tent out of the garage and assembled it in front of the downstairs fireplace.  Much like when I first camped alone, I haven’t built a fire here to accompany my internal campsite.  Although now it is more about the time it takes than the effort I am willing to put forth.  In the past, I just didn’t bother with the mess.  My intention here, while he’s away, is to cuddle myself in my cozy tent, to make myself feel safe and secure and bundled, but I do fall asleep on the couch more than once during his absence.

Perhaps my campsite is a little about the effort, too.  After all, I did make the effort over the weekend to assemble the tent.  I just couldn’t bring myself to sleep in our bed without him next to me.  As I fell asleep Sunday night, I spent time forcing myself to think about the first time I assembled the tent, when I first escaped from Jason’s wrath, and how remarkably different and strong and resilient I have become.  Yet, in this beautiful, warm home that Daniel opened up to me, every room fits his character, his view of our surroundings, and reminds me of so much about the man he is.  I just don’t think I can spend time in it without him.

I never considered myself strong, despite what Daniel continually tells me.  I believe a thin line runs between strength and survival.  Survival describes what I did in my life before I met Daniel.  I managed to breathe in and out (most of the time) and that sustained me.  True strength never felt like a quality I possessed until I met Daniel and until I needed to be strong for him.

Perhaps my ability to find my strength depends entirely upon his being in my life, building me up, and guiding me into a fuller, more substantive existence.  Yet now, with a mere business trip, I feel weak and empty and incapable without him.

He doesn’t need to know this, though.  I make sure to pack up my in-house campsite, leave no trace as we say, before he comes home.

NEXT: On The Job – Part 8


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