I bloody hate Sundays
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Before I get struck down by God, or conservatives, allow me to explain the title of this article.
I am in a long-distance relationship, as anyone who's read my blog lately knows. This weekend was our six-month anniversary and we had a great time. We had to go to two graduations, but there were so many of our friends graduating that we really needed to go. He went out last night to party with some of his friends while I stayed in my dorm on duty. He came in at 4am, very tired. He crawled into bed, we cuddled and went to sleep. I woke him up today with breakfast in bed - bacon, egg and cheese sandwhich, coffee and orange juice. The look on his face was worth it.
We had a GREAT weekend. Great, that is, until six o'clock tonight. That was when he had to leave to drive 2.5 hrs back home. This is what happens every weekend. Every Sunday, we have to say goodbye. Sometimes it's ok... we manage to say goodbye without many problems because we know we'll see each other again. Then, there's this kind of weekend.
I feel like such a goof. I cried. A lot. I walked him out, watched him go to his car and watched him drive away before the waterworks started. I try not to cry in front of him not because he'll think I'm stupid or anything but because it will make him feel bad. And I know I don't have the right to cry like I do. I know plenty of women who have to say goodbye to husbands who are headed to war. My cousin hasn't seen her husband for over a year now.
Ever since my car wreck I've been afraid. Every time we say goodbye I get this strange fear that this will be the last time I see him. It's silly, I know. He's a good driver, but so am I and that didn't stop my accident.
I also don't like saying goodbye. I miss him and I don't get to see him very often. (Wow, I sound really whiny.) This is the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with and if we can make it through two years of long-distance dating, then I think we can make it through almost anything. (We're already a quater of the way there!) I'll just have to hate Sundays for a while longer.
I am in a long-distance relationship, as anyone who's read my blog lately knows. This weekend was our six-month anniversary and we had a great time. We had to go to two graduations, but there were so many of our friends graduating that we really needed to go. He went out last night to party with some of his friends while I stayed in my dorm on duty. He came in at 4am, very tired. He crawled into bed, we cuddled and went to sleep. I woke him up today with breakfast in bed - bacon, egg and cheese sandwhich, coffee and orange juice. The look on his face was worth it.
We had a GREAT weekend. Great, that is, until six o'clock tonight. That was when he had to leave to drive 2.5 hrs back home. This is what happens every weekend. Every Sunday, we have to say goodbye. Sometimes it's ok... we manage to say goodbye without many problems because we know we'll see each other again. Then, there's this kind of weekend.
I feel like such a goof. I cried. A lot. I walked him out, watched him go to his car and watched him drive away before the waterworks started. I try not to cry in front of him not because he'll think I'm stupid or anything but because it will make him feel bad. And I know I don't have the right to cry like I do. I know plenty of women who have to say goodbye to husbands who are headed to war. My cousin hasn't seen her husband for over a year now.
Ever since my car wreck I've been afraid. Every time we say goodbye I get this strange fear that this will be the last time I see him. It's silly, I know. He's a good driver, but so am I and that didn't stop my accident.
I also don't like saying goodbye. I miss him and I don't get to see him very often. (Wow, I sound really whiny.) This is the guy I want to spend the rest of my life with and if we can make it through two years of long-distance dating, then I think we can make it through almost anything. (We're already a quater of the way there!) I'll just have to hate Sundays for a while longer.
