“d” is for divorce

The other day I was talking with several co-workers—a couple of whom I know pretty well, and also a couple I had just met (they work in a different program).  For some reason the topic of traffic in a certain southern California city came up, and I threw in my two cents as I had lived there with Mr. X two different times, for a total of about a year and a half.

The logical question came up, why had I lived there?  I answered honestly and said that my ex-husband had been studying there.

I don’t know if the weirdness was only inside me or if anyone else felt it, but I felt a strange ripple go through the air.  I know there should be no shame in what I have been through, but it felt like I was shouting out a headline, all the while wanting to explain my whole story.  And also not wanting to say a word.

I have decided that should this type of thing come up again, I want to say, “I went there for a guy,” or something of that nature.  Not for anyone else, but because I think I will be left with less surplus feeling about what should be a light moment complaining about traffic.

random

I’m really hoping the fact that I’m posting doesn’t cause any heart attacks out there.

All is well.  For some reason I have not been in a writing space, and am mostly succeeding at not guilting myself about this.

I’ve been reading Kristin‘s alphabet series, and even though I didn’t sign up for the challenge, I’m thinking about doing my own little series, as sometimes I feel like I could just write and write about a random topic, as long as I don’t have to worry about where I left off in my last post.

Or I could just write random posts without worrying about where I left off last.