Keep the Home Fires Burning

My husband left London today on a long work trip.
That in itself isn't unusual. He's traveled extensively for work throughout our marriage.
But he hadn't traveled from here yet.
Because he had traveled so much the year before we moved here, and because we had just moved here, he told them he didn't want to travel for awhile.
But now, 10 months later, it was too good of a trip to pass up.
And the time has come.
I didn't used to care that much when he traveled back in the States. I had so much to do -- my newspaper job, my teenagers, my house, my aging mother, my beloved dog. I went to bed early when he was gone. Felt good.
I remember the British wives of the guys who worked with my husband would hate it when their husbands traveled out of Washington, though, especially if they had no kids.
They were out of their element, and alone there, without a life. I felt sorry for them.
I guess I'm them now.
Even though my son is here with me now. Thank God. For another few weeks.
And I do have a sorta job. Which I sorta like.
Nothing like my old job though.
Nothing like my old commute.
Nothing like my old life.
This evening, as my husband was jetting off to South America, and I was jamming onto the packed Tube train after work, I could see myself on his next trip, maybe a couple months from now, who knows. Without my son.
There's always another trip to go on.
And me, at this job, I guess. They've given me four days a week for the next three weeks now. So I've got lots of strap-hanging coming now.
I'm lucky to have anything, though, in this shitty economy.
Even though everyone is at least 20 years younger than me there, in experience too. Which kinda hurts. I could've done the job 25 years ago too.
But we need the money, like most people nowadays. Not finished paying for college. Not old enough to retire. Even though I retired from the one job that meant the most to me in life.
This gig here will keep me from going to Italy, I can see that.
Because I'll feel I have to work. Because my husband is working. Because we need the money to live in this expensive city.
Tonight, I just felt tired.
I want to go to South America.
Or somewhere.
Do something fun.
This move has been no fun at all.
Is that my fault? I'm willing to take responsibility if it is.
I guess I'm supposed to keep the home fires burning.
Like I always did.
Not sure I want to.
Without him here, I really don't know what I'm doing here.