ride with me

(So yeah, am presently in this stage that gets experienced by anyone at one point in his/her life. Join me in my emotional roller coaster and maybe we can enjoy the experience together. Bleh.)

With my very recent re-acquaintance with dear, old asthma, I only had one question in mind: Why? All these years I thought I've already outgrown the dreaded monster of my childhood, with only very mild attacks once or twice a year. Until last week. You know how it feels to struggle to suck in every ounce of air you can, but much to your fear and panic, the air doesn't even seem to reach your poor lungs? If you've seen Shyamalan's Signs, you'll definitely know what I'm talking about–that scene where Rory Culkin's character was desperately and painfully trying to breathe while his dad was clutching for his son's dear life. It's like that. It's real. And it's still with me.

I attribute my unpleasant reunion with the Big A to the fact that we let one of our dogs stay inside the house. We had to isolate dear Clapton from his sis Ginger to avoid further complications (and expenses). For the love of our dogs, Big A had to visit me.

Now our two beloved canines have had a dose of their own distressing experience. I'm just a bit tired to talk about it here. Suffice it to say that the family had shared a heart-breaking experience when the vet visited them and diagnosed Ginger with a life-threatening disease, and that Clapton had to be confined for a couple of days. We're just hoping that both dogs will be fine soon (Clapton seems to be, at least). And the sooner they get better, the longer I'd live.

Then comes this big change. I'm not big on changes, especially when they involve a very cozy part of my life that I've gotten so used to for so long. Have that cozy part stirred and I might as well jump off a cliff. Hay. So what the heck am I yapping about?

It's Francis' new, shiny job. Finally, he gets to be a real engineer. And being a real one means having to go to field works that defy the law of reasonable proximity. And come this Sunday, he shall be packing his bags for a month or so assignment in Cavite.

Before anyone of you reacts violently and begin calling me an over-reacting, über mushy girlfriend, lemme explain. For almost 9 years now, Francis and I never experienced not being able to see each other for more than a week. Sure, he's had field work assignments that took him to different places, but that's only for a maximum of about five days.

A month–and the very big possibility that it might even take longer than that–is absurd. Plus, there's also that looming possibility of an out-of-the-country assignment. That's even more absurd!

It would take me long before I can finally cope with this big change. How's the every night phone calls? The three or more times a week meet ups? Movie dates? Jam sessions?

Me?

I know, I know. This is for his career growth. And yes, for our relationship, too. Sometime, sooner or later, this change is bound to happen. It's just that with all that's going on (read: I'm still not writing full-time. I'm still stuck in this limbo.), managing to handle this big a change is the least thing I should worry about. But that's not happening. I worry about it every single day now. In fact, it even scares me. Like part of me feels that being miles apart would eventually translate to growing apart. NONONONONONONONONONONO! The Lord help us! But I also know we're better than that. I'm just not really good at handling things like this.

So there. I'm a bit lost. And being able to breathe normally would do me good during times like this.