I'm home

Having read this before my flight this morning, I made a point of being especially conscious of the issue. When I saw that there was little space for my bigger bag, I asked the flight attendant whether I should check it curbside. She said to shove it in in front of another backpack in one of the bins. It didn't fit. She shrugged. So much for trying to be polite and proactive.

I got in... to a half-unloaded dishwasher. He'd just unloaded the bottom half.

I stepped into the shower. My soapdish was full of water (and scummy soap). This never happens when I'm home.

Most importantly, there were containers and wrappers with (significant) food traces in the kitchen trash, which is uncovered. We have had many a conversation--and I've blogged about them before--about throwing anything with food on it into the trash bin in the utility room. Because we do not want any infestations. Why is that so difficult?

I could go on--there was more--but you get the point. But the kicker is, when he gets in, he expects me to be just thrilled to see him. Not just friendly--thrilled. He got in, we exchanged hellos, asked about one another's week. Shortly thereafter, he was about to go out to dinner, but paused to tell me, again, that he was glad to see me. Added that he knew I was too busy to catch up--doesn't cross his mind that I don't want to catch up, that after a week-long business trip with almost non-stop interaction with coworkers and others, I could use some me time, and that if I wanted to talk to someone, it wouldn't be him. What does he want--an emotional reunion? Or, more to the point, at this point, after how many times we've talked about this, does he really think that's going to happen? Some people.