It's always a frigging emotional rollercoaster when he goes. First a disproportionate amount of sadness; then numb acceptance to the point where I can't even remember what it's like when he's here. Then wildly swinging between optimism and impatience during the final stretch.
And this happens every. Single. Time.
The only difference is the varying degrees (I.e. sadness doesn't always lead to tears/not eating/binge-eating).
Welp, 83 days to go--unless he's not supposed to be home by June 15th, but driving
back by that day. Then it'll be 87 or 88. *Cue sarcastic cheering and confetti*
+And now I'm going into Shades of Magic withdrawals... Why do I do this to myself?