jonno leaves for south africa for three weeks tomorrow. he booked the tickets about a month ago, and since then, i’ve had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach every time i think about the approaching departure date.

part of it is plain ol’ jealousy – i’d love to go with him, but with my own trip to the states booked in august, it just doesn’t make any financial sense. instead, i have to go to loathesome, dragsome, detestable *work* every day, while he gets to hang out with his family and friends drinking beer in the sun.

but also: i will miss him. it’s hard to fathom, but we’ve not spent more than a few days apart since we first got together. right after we first met, i went on holiday to rome, and we spent the entire week sending pathetic text messages across the continent, messages full of desperate longing, messages i still have in safekeeping to this day. and even on our travels, when we were attached at the hip 24/7 for 6 straight months, we never got sick of each other. we shared closet-sized hostel rooms and even smaller campervans. our current apartment is so small we’re almost constantly within arm’s reach of each other. it feels unnatural to breathe un-jonno-breathed air.

when you’re used to being continuously in each other’s space, three weeks with no one on the other side of the bed is a long time. the phantom limb of an empty pillow.

don’t get me wrong – i’m fine with being alone. i’m not one of those girls that keeps mace under her mattress and barricades the door when there’s no man around. i can go to movies, museums, restaurants by myself and be perfectly happy. i can find the fusebox and the water mains, even if i can’t reach stuff on the high shelves.

and i’m trying to remind myself of all the positives of an uncompromising lifestyle. eating poptarts and salad for dinner, watching whatever i want on telly. no one complaining about my penchant for reading in bed, no tea cups left on the floor. and i’ve got several diversions lined up to keep me from turning into a hermit with unshaven legs and dirty pyjama pants.

i’m not convinced that absence necessarily increases fondness. instead i think it simply emphasises the space left behind by the missing, like a puzzle piece described by its empty relief.

i suppose that’s what i’m dreading so much. the emptiness of the jonno-less space, missing its matching piece, yearning for the part of me that’s not there.

thank god for skype.

amy winehouse – wake up alone

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