(Ed. note #1: On Saturday, Alisa left for an eight day trip to Ohio with the youth group she works with. It will be the longest we will have gone without seeing each other since she moved here. Today, I cope with her absence via the written (or typed, rather) word.)

After feeling sick almost all night, and sleep-deprived for close to two weeks, I called in sick this morning to work and slept until around lunchtime. Later this afternoon, I decided to make a trip to Target (no longer pronounced "Tar-jay", the way it would be pronounced by a college freshman girl, but "TER-get", like the Target Lady on SNL). I can't remember the last time I went to Target by myself, so I picked up the phone to call the Girl.

(Ed. note #2: Alisa and I spent the first two years of our relationship on opposite sides of the continent. It was less than fun, except when we got to see each other, which was more than fun. Since then, she has moved here, and we get to spend a lot more time together.)

Before the phone had a chance to ring, I hung up, realizing that she would not be able to go to Target with me today. I was immediately reminded of hearing stories about amputees who, long after the limb has been removed, felt "ghost" pains and itches on their missing arm or leg. When something is part of you for so long, you miss it so much when it's gone, that sometimes your brain fools you into thinking you haven't lost it, maybe as a coping mechanism. Now, I know, she'll be back very soon, and that so many more people have lost so much, and more permanently, but that won't stop me from unconsciously picking up the phone to scratch an itch that isn't there.

That sounded weird.