Well, the night shift is working out pretty well.
As soon as my beloved bipolar husband gets his first paycheck, we won't be in extreme poverty anymore.
I'm pretty excited about that. Just in time for Christmas.
There have been two other Christmases where we had oodles of money, but I don't remember either of them. ??
It could be because when he had both those jobs, I never saw him.
With the first one, he'd come home between 11pm-2am and go back to work at 6am.
The second one, they'd actually put him up in a hotel every other week. I saw him on Wednesdays.
The secret to night-shift success is a full sleep arsenal. A nice, bead-filled, cooling face mask, some ear plugs, and new sherpa sweatpants have kept him sleeping peacefully through the day time. The bright, loud daytime.
He's been using his happy lamp when he wakes up from about noon to 8pm. I'm sure his wake-up times will normalize soon.
I miss cuddling with him. Sleeping next to his warm body, snuggling against his shoulder blade and being wrapped in the smell of him.
He misses me to.
Knowing about each other's mental differences has really fortified our strong relationship.
Before he knew about my Asperger's, some of my social interactions confused him.
Before I knew about his bipolar, I had no idea that his bouts of crazy passion were manias, and that those are something to avoid.
I feel though, that the parts of each other we rely on aren't related.
I need him to help ground me. I need him to cook and I need him for the kisses.
He needs me because I somehow keep him grounded. He needs me to find all the things he puts down and looses track of and he needs me for the kisses back!
I love him so much that I don't see him as a separate entity. I feel like he's part of me. Not in a romantic, cutesy way. I literally feel like he is a large part of how I manage to be alive. He's a part of my brain that only functions when he's around.
It's nice, but it's weird.