girly post - i'm allowed.

My boyfriend was in town this weekend. For a year+, we've been in a long distance relationship. He lives 200 miles away from me. Ordinarily, I hate the term "long distance relationship" because to me, it sounds so superficial and so freshman-in-college. I had to move over a year ago to where I am now because I started graduate school. He couldn't come because of his job - because he's trying to save his money for us and for our big gigantic dream: to move to Oregon when I'm done with school.

This weekend, I had to write a strategic plan for one of my classes; it was due today. It was a pain in the ass because it took me so long and so he and I hardly had any "us" time. And by "us" time, I mean what we usually do on the weekends: hike, camp, photography, watch a movie, maybe go to a museum, maybe have donuts. While I was busy writing a paper, he bought me lunch, installed a window a/c in my bedroom, did my dishes, replaced my kitchen faucet, and wandered in my alleyway taking pictures. We managed to squeeze in a tiny hike yesterday afternoon before we had to face the fact that it was Sunday night and our little weekend was almost over. He left last night after Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy, even though he doesn't like Grey's Anatomy as much as I do, to drive home for some three hours in the middle of the night.

And when I realized that the weekend was winding down and he had to leave, I started crying like a baby. "Why are we doing this? I hate this! I hate to say goodbye to you!" To cheer me up, he said, "Someday, when Sunday comes and we're finally living together, you'll probably say to yourself, 'Damn! I wish he was going home!'" Around the time that he said that, my lab gave me a gigantic wet willie which really meant, "Oh! You'll never feel that way."