I took myself out to dinner last night. Alone. To the local, darling new grille in our town. I ordered a 6 oz. steak, and a salad. It’s all I wanted. I didn’t want the shrimp, just the beef, thank you.
I’m talking with the owner, who is not a local. I married in to this small town in 1994, but I’m still not considered a local. So, I’m having this nice conversation with her, and I realize she is partner’s with my husband’s cousin.
I’m divorcing in this very small town. I can’t go anywhere without running into a former *relative*. I don’t gossip with anyone as I stand in line at my favorite Starbucks. Everyone knows my husband. Everyone has enough money to live as they need, while I . . . let’s just not go there. Two kids, two dogs, keeping the house afloat. I’m always reminded that I don’t have the social clout any longer. That I don’t have what I did have…
But. I have my dignity.
Which is why I took myself out to dinner. I can go out alone. I’m approaching 50 years old, and I have earned the right to not feel bad on *date night* Saturday.
Do I sound bitter?
I’m not certain, but I may be depressed. I think you’re supposed to be sad when you end a marriage of 14 years. Thank God that running has been the catalyst to lift my spirits, even on horrible days. Thank God that my body can still function, and that I can get up and run.
Meanwhile, it hurts.