After work I finally took the bag of soggy kitchen scraps outside to the compost bin, but not before digging through the fridge for more old produce. Into the compost went an entire, unopened bag of turnips, one of lettuce, and one of baby carrots. I also threw in a mostly full bag of green grapes, a cucumber, a lemon and half an onion.
Carrying all the food, now wasted, to the compost bin made me intensely sad. I picked out each of those things from the commissary before Theseus left (except the turnips - where did those come from??). Throwing them into the compost felt a little like erasing Theseus from the house. They were purchased for meals we'd eat together, leftovers turned into lunch for the following day. It hurt to let go of the idea of dinner tonight with my husband.
Another whisper of Theseus: he left behind a basket full of dirty laundry - I can't bring myself to wash it yet. How can I walk out of the bedroom in the morning without glancing at his boxers on the top of the pile? They are some of the last things he touched before he left. The thought of lifting his shirts, each sock, into the washing machine and replacing his earthy masculine scent with Spring Meadow makes me... well, makes me cry.
I've been doing alright, pretending at the back of my mind that he's only away at annual training. I wasn't planning on crying when I started this post. I can't write any more tonight.
Another whisper of Theseus: he left behind a basket full of dirty laundry - I can't bring myself to wash it yet. How can I walk out of the bedroom in the morning without glancing at his boxers on the top of the pile? They are some of the last things he touched before he left. The thought of lifting his shirts, each sock, into the washing machine and replacing his earthy masculine scent with Spring Meadow makes me... well, makes me cry.
I've been doing alright, pretending at the back of my mind that he's only away at annual training. I wasn't planning on crying when I started this post. I can't write any more tonight.
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