My husband is a worryer. He will go bananas if I am away from home unexpectedly. He comes up with all kinds of scenarios about where I am, and what’s happened etc. I get it. I really do. We survived lockdown together, where I didn’t leave the house at all.
So, this weekend is a huge shift for him. He has known about it since the beginning of the planning stages. He’s known where and when and all the details for the most part. However, he started worrying. Coming up with weird scenarios about this and that again.
He’s worried that I will use my grill inside of the tent and suffocate. Or that I will have a candle and that the tent will burn down with me in it. He’s worried that I will get hurt. Okay that worry is one I have, with my ability to fall from a seated position.
I tried to allay his fears. First of all, I didn’t pack candles. Second, I don’t have any oil lamps, or desires to carry one. I don’t have this that or the next thing on his fears list. And I have no desires to start a charcoal grill inside a tent for crying out loud.
He worries, and I get it. He’s also mentally ill, and even the unfounded worries are as huge as the truly possible worries for him. When I decided that a certain farting dog wouldn’t be joining me, he freaked out.
Duke would eat anyone that approached me. Maybe that’s why he farts so much. Anyways.
So, before I left, I set google maps to share my location with him. I also sat and talked for awhile. It means that my cell phone battery drops quite a bit more, because he keeps checking it, but I can recharge that with little to no problem from the spare I have and the van as needed.
I’ve got warm blankets, and sleeping bags, I’ve checked the reports on weather and conditions. I’ve made sure that everything I am doing is in the safest manner I can do. I’m okay.
Life’s too short to not go out and be me. I still love my goofy, freaking out husband, but it’s good to get away once in awhile.