Honey I’m Home

Honey I’m Home

“Honey, I’m home!”

I called out into the darkness and turned on the lights to my apartment. I laughed at myself.

I have always lived alone as long as I can remember. Even when I was in a relationship, I don’t let my boyfriends sleep over. I cringe at the thought of living together with someone who I am not even sure will be with me for the long haul. But for years,  every single day, upon opening my front door, I just say “Honey, I’m home.”

Is it pathetic? Maybe.

Besides, when you work long hours and late nights, you will never have a social life, much more a romantic relationship. I go out, sure. To do groceries or jog in the park. But only during the weekends. When the weather is perfect. Which is not all the time.

Today I can’t wait to go home. I was in the hospital for 16 hours because the new receptionist didn’t show up and I had to extend. Tired is an understatement. I feel like passing out.

“Honey, I’m home!” My hands groped the walls for the switch.

“I’m glad you are.”

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