I hate Sunday evenings

With B taking this temporary job down south, every Sunday leaves me a blubbery mess. Either he has to leave to go back down south, or I have to leave to go north. If we weren't in this stupid lease up here and if we knew his job was permanent (and not just a fantastic temporary gig), we could pay the punishment, break the lease, and move to the midway point. But no... we choose to live NORTH of where I work, and the midway point is way SOUTH of where I work, so it's not possible for him to make a commute every day. 

So I'm stuck with weekends. There's no argument it's a fantastic opportunity. There's no grumpiness over him taking the job-- it's wonderful! Perfect for him. But I hate saying goodbye. I dread it throughout Sunday. Silly, right? I mean, I'm going to see him later on in the week. But I hate it. We both get all dreary-deary and sad.

SIGH. So that's me. Dreary and sad right now. :( It's a Sunday evening.