After taking the red-eye home from the West, My Beloved met me at the airport with a fistful of daisies (my fav). I could spot his sexy slouch from hundreds of feet away as I staggered towards the exit (me + less than 5hrs of sleep while at 30K feet = ankles too swollen for walking). It felt like coming to the surface after the longest attempt to swim the length of the pool underwater. I was happy I did it, but ooh that oxygen felt so sweet: my lungs instinctively inhaled. There is nothing, nothing in the world better than being greeted at the end of a long journey by a warm hug from arms that wraps all the way around me.
After almost four days, the swelling in my feet has subsided, but I still can't help breaking into a wide smile when I come into a room and he's there. I have been looking at public health fellowships and such, some of them with the option for remote-ish travel or that are stationed in nearby states and would require temporary relocation. It wouldn't be so hard for six weeks or so, I told myself as I daydreamed about developing health education programs in Sudan. We did it in college, we could do it again.
Clearly, I am crazy.
Yes, of course we could do it, don't be silly. But I am also of the age when the "novelty" of sacrifice smacks of ungratefulness.
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