So I went to the temple last night, after heating and enjoying a bowl of clam chowder in the break room once I had logged off. I had already made up my mind that I didn’t want to go on a session; I just wanted to hang out with the sisters and do the preparatory ordinances. [I was physically tired enough that I probably couldn’t have stayed awake during a session anyway.]
While I was changing out of my street clothes in the dressing room, I heard a sister call another sister’s name, softly. A very familiar name. And the voice which responded was one I know well. In the cubicle next to my own, the ex-wife of my ex-boyfriend was also preparing to serve in the temple.
Ordinarily, I would have been delighted to see her; she’s a good woman, with a good heart. Last night, not so much. I was not in the mood to talk with anyone who happened to have that last name. Granted, she may not have that name much longer, but I have never wanted to attend a singles’ conference less than I do now [and I ordinarily enjoy them], so my attitude is a wee bit iffy.
Not so much as you’d notice.
So I was very, very quiet in my cubicle, and I made sure to stay in there until she and her friend were gone.
I went last night, as I will go to the mixer and dance tonight, strictly to be obedient. A friend commented that with my current mindset, I would be blessed all the more for attending. I told her that I would probably blessed a whole lot more if I stopped whining about being there. We both laughed.
I don’t mind being single, in principle. I really don’t. It’s way better than being unhappily married, or in a bad relationship. It’s just that this particular singles’ conference comes right on the heels of a dating situation that went blooey. And I am not the least bit interested in spending the weekend in a large classroom with a bunch of guys who want to date me about as much as I want to date them. Nor do I want to take classes and workshops that will probably be edifying, and even interesting, but nevertheless remind me that I am, oh dear, single.
Repeat after me: the odds aren’t good, and the goods are odd. [And yes, I realize that when I point the finger at somebody else, there are several more pointing right back at me.]
Is it too late to open a convent? With me as Irreverent Mother?
One of my friends is attending the North Texas Irish Festival on Saturday. I am jealous, so jealous! I shot him a note on Facebook to tell him so, and he reminded me about the Scottish Festival in June. I’ve lived in this part of Texas for most of the last 31 years, and I’ve never gone to it, either. But it’s on my calendar now
Bagpipes. Men in kilts. I can just look. I don’t have to shop.
Got my performance review yesterday; specifics about what they like, specific ways to improve, and we will talk about the money in three weeks. I already know that there is a smaller pool of money to share among 36 people this year, likewise the pool for our bonuses. Modest raise beats no raise at all. Ditto for bonus money. I have a job. And I like it. Most days, the fact that they pay me to show up is almost irrelevant.
Five rounds to go on the sock, and still no idea what I want to do next.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!