Fuzzy left for DC early this morning, from an airport shrouded in fog, and landed in an airport being dusted with snow. I am home, because his trip is for work, but I feel the way I always do when he’s gone: off-blance.

The house is too quiet. I have a white noise app on my iPad, but I can’t listen to it 24/7. I can’t get the temperature right – all day I’ve been too cold, or too hot, adding and subtracting layers as needed. The thermostat for the ground floor of our house, which is where our bedroom is, is above my eye-level; I can move the control that makes it warmer or colder, but I cannot see to pick a just-slightly-higher temperature, and while we own three stepstools, I never remember to bring one to the thermostat.

As well, getting up early to tke him to the airport has completely disruped my schedule, but the dogs are still on their usual schedule, which meant I couldn’t just veg and sleep all day.

I hate it when the rhythm of my days is disrupted. I hate that Fuzzy being gone for three nights makes me off-balance for a week.