Sunday, September 14, 2008

Weekend ends

The best part of each week nowadays is Friday evening, when he arrives. The worst part of every week is Sunday evening. He leaves.

Growing up, I usually had a sinking feeling in my stomach starting at about dinnertime on Sunday evenings. It would grow as the evening wore on, when I found myself less and less able to have fun, instead finding myself in a deepening melancholy as I realized that my weekend joy was about to end. Or perhaps rather than sensing an end of joy, I instead was focused on the beginning of school, with its associated homework, busyness, and other stresses.

Shifting forward ten years, I have found that all my weekends now end in a similar fashion. My heart begins to sink as Sunday afternoons wear on, ending in the inevitable goodbye as I hug my hubby one last time and wave as he drives the car down the parking lot in the direction of the interstate. I then spend the rest of the evening in a depressive state, thinking about the workweek I have to endure before the next Friday evening comes.

At this point, I only wish that my heart would stop becoming so heavy at the end of every weekend. I have to see him leave every weekend for the next year and a half; that's the reality. I just wish my chest didn't know that reality, so that I could fool myself into moving with a happy heart into each week.

Maybe next weekend's end ...

(Day 92)

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