I guess the point I’m trying to make is just that though I love alone time and can certainly find more than enough to do to keep me occupied, it is shocking to me how much I miss Frank when he is away. It’s partially just the force of habit and the fact that humans in general tend to dislike being forced to vary a routine. But it’s also that I really just miss that guy. To the point that it makes me feel kind of lame and anti-feminist. Is that love? Or something more sinister? I’m not entirely sure.