Owner of a lonely heart.

Every day, there are so many tragic images of our world on TV, online and in magazines and newspapers. Those related to famine and natural disasters. Sometimes war or disease. The list goes on. 

But at this moment nothing is as heartbreaking to me as the sight of my own toothbrush sitting in its tumbler on the bathroom counter - alone and missing its mate.

I don't like it when Dr. X is away. 

First, because I can't seem to water the yard without flooding it. I mean, I might as well set up the X Family Ark out there and load it up for an afternoon ride. 

Second, because I don't know how many more turkey on wheat (hold the spicy mustard) dinners, chased by a yogurt cup, I can swallow. Turning on the stove for just me doesn't seem right. Who am I kidding? Dr. X does most of the cooking when he's home, anyway.

And third, because I never really wanted to see "Monk" or "Without a Trace" during prime time, let alone at 2 or 3 a.m. I just don't get Tony Shaloub, even if I am suffering from insomnia. 

I'm just not very good at being a bachelorette anymore.

At a previous job, a few of my colleagues were dishing on their frequent husband-less lifestyles.

"Salsa and queso for dinner, definitely," one told me wisely.

"Camping out on the couch," another said, nodding.

"Wine with dinner. Not a glass, the bottle. Helps me sleep," yet another said (but I had my doubts about her sobriety, anyway).

At the time, I was incredulous. With Dr. X out of the picture, I could revel in my independence. Eat over the sink (hey, no dishes to wash), sleep in late without criticism, and watch really bad TV. Like anything CW or "Dancing with the Stars" bad. And no one would make fun of me for listening to ABBA.

Yes, there definitely are some perks to Dr. X's hiatus from our household... Strangely, all the dirty dishes actually get in the sink, instead of piled right next to it (my father also suffers from this odd disease).  The toilet seat stays down and, once worn, clothes actually go in the hamper and not on the back of the toilet or at the foot of the bed. No one is tracking mud in from the yard or leaving unopened mail on the kitchen counter for days.

But I'd trade all of that to get my other half home more quickly. I miss him and no amount of well-placed laundry makes me feel any better. Hurry back, Dr. X. And don't forget to bring your toothbrush!