2:00 p.m.

Marv's gone. I just watched his little green Saturn pull out of the driveway. It hasn't sunk in yet, really. I'm still trying to get my mind around it. I cried when he told me goodbye. There were no tears in his eyes, even though he told me he was going to miss me. What will I do? How will I face each day without him here? He's been such a significant part of my daily life for so long now, I hardly know how to get out of bed without him.  I keep trying to remind myself that it's only for 4 days.

2:47 p.m.

Everywhere I turn there are reminders of Marv. His stuffed platypus stares at me stoically from atop his PC monitor; the Mac cap I bought him Friday at Goodwill hangs from a fake tree in our livingroom, tempting me like forbidden fruit; his waterproof fish radio dangles from a shelf on a string -- only days ago I listened to him broadcast the morning show on  it

4:12 p.m.

It's dinner time now. Normally, I'd be driving through town with Marv by my side, debating over where to eat. He'd tell me he didn't care, that it didn't matter to him.  Then with each suggestion I'd offer, he'd make noises of dissatisfaction, making it clear that it wasn't a good choice.  Is there anywhere we haven't eaten together? Anywhere that might not flood me with memories of meals-gone-by?

4:59 p.m.

I just came out to get into my car, and parked  beside of me is a walking, talking replica of my Alero.  The driver approaches me, and I'm frightened. What does he want? My purse? My children? Marv's been gone for less than three hours, and already we're going to be abducted because he's not here to protect us.  But it's ok.  He just wants to look at my owner's manual. He's having some problems with his transmission, and doesn't have a book. 

5:26 p.m.

I brought the girls to watch March of the Penguins.  Marv and I have seen it twice together already, and somehow, just seeing it again makes me feel closer to him.  With each scene, I'm bombarded with memories of our experiences with the movie, like how we looked at each other knowingly and smiled when, in the opening scene, Morgan Freeman says, "Like any good love story, this one begins with an act of utter foolishness."  Or the discussion we had on the way home: "Maybe penguins have the right idea," we agreed, referring to the penguinian practice of finding a mate each year, and remaining monogamous only until the next mating season,  "But if we were penguins, we'd find each other year after year."  Or how during our second viewing of it, with Anthony, we joked about how much fun it would be to rip Morgan Freeman's narration out and replace it with our own.  "I'm sorry...I just can't kiss you. I don't have any lips," we'd say during scenes of exhausted penguins rubbing beaks with their newly found mates, or "I'm sorry little buddy, but if your mother doesn't get back here soon, I'm going to have to eat you," when the famished father penguins looked down at the chicks they were protecting while the mothers were away at sea filling up their own tummies.

I just spoke with Marv's mother. He hasn't made it there yet. It's been more than 5 hours, and it's only a 4 and 1/2 hour drive. What could be wrong? Is he having car trouble? Has he been in an accident? Did he meet an attractive, available woman at a rest stop? (Note to self: check on family cell phone package.)  Oh, the agony of it all! His mom assured me she'll have him call as soon as he gets there. I consulted my Magic 8 Ball for answers on where he might be, but it was of no comfort.





7:16 p.m.

I've devised a plan to make Marv come home tonight. He has my only spare car key in existence on his keychain. I'll call and tell his mom that I've locked my keys in my car, and he'll have to turn around as soon as he gets there and come back home. It has to work. Marv knows how clumsy I am. There's only one minor problem: the Alero has a feature that makes it impossible to lock my keys in it. I can't remember whether or not Marv knows this.  Best not to take any chances.

7:37 p.m.

The girls and I are on our way to the Big South Fork for the 13th annual Haunting in the Hills Storytelling Festival.  My cell phone just rang, and I didn't get to it in time. It wouldn't matter anyway, because I don't have enough of a signal to take a call. It appears that the call came from Marv's parents' house. Was it him? Was it his mom saying she just heard from him and he's stranded on the interstate? Can you hear me now?  No, Verizon, as a matter-of-fucking-fact, I CAN'T!

7:49 p.m.

Oh, thank gods. Marv just called back. I have a signal now. He's fine -- exhausted, but alive and well, and apparently not in the company of an attractive woman he met at a rest stop.

8:14 p.m.

The girls and I have hiked over to the campground where the storytelling festival is being held. We've spread a quilt onto the grass, and are lying here under the nearly full moon, surrounded by what looks like thousands of others, listening to the soothing voices of the tellers coming from speakers nearby. We were here last year, and Marv so desperately wanted to come with me, but he was still living in Greenville at the time. He promised me then that he'd be with me for the next one, but here it is, and he's not here. I'm kind of bummed out about that, but I understand that he needed to make this trip.

9:03 p.m.

Listening to the tellers is almost hypnotic. There is a Cherokee man telling the ghost stories of his people, which are also my people in a way. He talks about skillies (sp?), and little people, and shapeshifters, and it makes me want to learn more about Cherokee folklore.

It's a perfect night for ghost stories.  The moon is full, the sky is clear, it's just cool enough to feel comfortable beneath a blanket, and the air has the distinctive scent of the beginning of autumn. All around me are couples cuddling up beneath their blankets.

I will not resent Marv for not being here with me.  I will not call him names, or say ugly things about him. I will not.

10:29 p.m.

Drifting off to sleep now. No Marv. Just his scent on my pillow. I must be strong. I must do that which I think I cannot do.  Must persevere. Must endure Marvlessness. One day at a time. Gods grant me the serenity...

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Note: Marv left Saturday for Greenville, SC to visit his family. He will be back on Wednesday. This has been an (intended to be humorous, and only somewhat serious) account of my first day away from him in more than 2 months.