Three weeks has been long enough. It was fine in the beginning because it was something different not having you around but that started to lose its power. The whole house is in an uproar. You’d better get home quick.
The frying pan is beginning to burn everything. I guess it misses your sunny-side-up eggs. There is a gap between one side of the bed and the other and it’s getting vaster and vaster each day forming a bottomless pit. The kettle gave up whistling about a week ago as if to say “what’s the point”. The fire is a little dull in itself and refuses to give warmth to the house. The computer and photocopier have started an all-out strike. That once eye-catching coffee table in the living room has lost its lustre. The cats are shedding theirs hairs at an enormous rate for the feeling of loss. Sweepy, even though he doesn’t have a tail, would not be wagging it anyway. He just sits and moans on his pillow from morning to night. Miguel drags his feet to and from school every day and seems to have become very sullen. The sound system must have joined the computer in its strike as it just doles out dreariness and drudgery, and one would be better off not to even go near it. The workshop is like a disaster area, the cold and misery has penetrated its walls, even the slate is missing your love and attention.
There’s a woman in the house and she feels like a child, waiting by the phone, checking her emails every hour for news from over there, counting the days until you come back, trying to fill in her days with chores to keep her busy but it isn’t working. You’ll just simply have to get home soon. Next Monday is too far away.