So, I'm sitting here sculpting little doggies, painting some other craft projects, and listening to the wisdom of Granny Clampitt.
I can't think of a more apt description for the way I've felt during the past year. A battered skillet. I guess there's a lid out there somewhere for a skillet like me. I liked being married. I liked having someone to figure out when/where/IF we'd be having dinner altogether or separately each day. I liked being accountable to another person, even in small ways like making the bed. Tdub always helped by fixed his side up and I fixed up mine and so the bed was made every day. I never make my bed anymore. It's just not the same when you're alone. I liked checking in with someone and them checking in with me. I liked having shared history. I liked fixing meals for someone and sometimes making them special in small ways. I liked coming home and talking about my students, sharing frustrations, joys, and sometimes things that are only funny between the two of us because of our shared history. Sure, there were lots of things I didn't like, lots of things I don't miss one bit. The things that battered my skillet, mostly.
But, according to Granny, there's hope.
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