Noah is coming home for Christmas on the night of the 23rd. We'll have been apart for another 4 weeks. In more than three months, we've been together for less than 24 hours.
Apparently the light at the end of the tunnel, so close yet still out of reach, is driving me a little mad—with the added stress of holiday prep and moving prep and whatnot. This afternoon Noah reminded me that I'm the captain of this ship, and I need to refocus, because right now I'm hanging out of the crow's nest guiding a flaming vessel into port at full speed.
"The captain's job is to bring the ship safely in," Noah said.
"OR go down with the ship," I replied.
The only way to fix this is with copious amounts of junk food and 30 Rock. Good for the long term? Not a chance. But it'll do for now.
Seven more days.