Confessions: Relationship Paranoia

I’d like to consider myself a hip and independent wife, but I am not immune to losing my shit. Unfortunately, due to my inherently paranoid nature, I can go from normal to crazy faster than a Ferrari can get to 60 mph. The most recent incident happened over the weekend, when my husband was on the west coast on a business trip, and I was in our new home on the east coast.

The weekend started off well enough. I went to happy hour with friends and thereafter had some Mexican and margaritas. There’s only so much taco and tequila that one girl can handle, and this little lady was ready to head to bed. However, I had not heard from my husband at all. While I was a little annoyed that he hadn’t been more considerate of the time difference, I went to bed worry-free. After a few hours of sleep, I had to pee, and as I groggily stumbled back to bed I thought I should have gotten a call from him by now. Checked my phone to find that, no, he in fact had not called. It was 4:30 am my time, so I started to worry a little bit, because obviously at this point there is a good chance that he is either dead or cheating on me. I was not sure yet which scenario was preferable. I called him, only to get his annoying voicemail. Now I was fucking angry to be inconvenienced by the new anxiety that was setting in. The rest of my morning went something like this:

4:37 am. I try to go back to sleep, consoling myself that bars in San Francisco are in fact not closed yet, and I should be hearing from him any moment.

4:49 am. I start doing the math, and realize the odds are much higher that he is cheating on me than dead.

5:02 am. I recall the sage words of my therapist, and remind myself that I cannot worry about things I cannot control.

5:17 am. I get really fucking annoyed that the likelihood of him missing his 8 am return flight is going up.

5:33 am. I really need to go back to sleep.

5:41 am. I cannot sleep at all. I retrieve my laptop to see if there are any other forms of communication that might give me clues as to where the fuck he is.

5:52 am. My eyes are tired, so I give up and turn off the lights.

5:57 am. The only reasonable explanation I can come up with for him not answering his phone is that he is in a sex dungeon where neither cell phones nor clothes are allowed. I mentally start packing my bags and consider asking my sister if I can move in with her.

6:03 am. I start feeling guilty that I thought he was cheating, because clearly the chances are now higher that he is actually dead. I wonder if his fat friend is smart enough to call me if he is dead.

6:11 am. In a final effort to get back to bed, I let the dogs sleep on his side of the bed and hope they drool on his pillow.

10:14 am. I get a text: “Sorry I didn’t call. I fell asleep on the couch. Miss you.”

10:15 am. I reply: “Eat it.”

10:16 am. I get back: “You’re weird.”

10:17 am. I pull the dogs a little closer, and think of which bagel I’m going to order when I finally get up for reals. Who the fuck falls asleep on the couch when they’re in San Francisco? I married such a lameass.