So, Eric's out of town this week for Origins. I hate this - not so much the fact that he's gone (though that sucks, too), but the fact that he's gone NOW. Y'see, if you look back in my journal around this time of year, you notice that I get increasingly more melancholy and depressed, and start talking about my dad more, because he died on the fourth of July. I know, I know, those of you who've been reading this for awhile have heard (read?) all this before, so I won't rehash everything.
The point is, this time of year is really damned hard on me. Yes, Eric will be back here by the fourth, which will help - that's always the worst day. In the meantime, however, I have to fight panic every moment he's gone. Being away from someone I love (when it's a trip, not because we live in different areas - for some reason, this makes a HUGE difference in my paranoia) during this time of year makes me think that, despite all odds, this is the time of year that something's going to happen to them. And, well, since I am the queen of the worst-case-scenario, this makes for less than pleasant musings on my part.
Eric knows all of this, of course, and he's pretty good about making sure he stays in touch. Y'know, letting me know he's still alive and kicking, all that jazz. We usually call each other at night before going to sleep (well, on his end, being three hours ahead he usually calls me when he's ready for bed), and then in the morning when we wake up, with maybe a call or two during the day, when he's got some downtime. So I called his cell phone when I woke up. No answer. I left a voicemail - he might have been in the shower or something.
That was at 6:30 this morning. I've called a couple more times, and sent a couple of text messages. No answer at all. None. Nothing. Now, I realize that there may be perfectly innocuous reasons for this - he left his phone in the hotel room, he can't hear it ring, he's too damned busy to even think about his phone (there are only two people running the Asmodee booth this year...), etc. etc.
Or, y'know, he's dead in a ditch somewhere. There's always that.
*worryfret* It'll be fine. Right?