melle-belle's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- a journal entry, 11/16/08 Had dinner at El Salto, the only sit-down, non-chain Mexican restaurant I know of in the area. It's okay; though honestly, I can't remember what Mexican food is supposed to taste like. I sat by myself while the entire restaurant was coupled up, while the entire world was coupled up. I didn't even have a book to shield me from the sympathetic looks of the wait staff. "Yes," for the third time, "just one." A version of myself, 15 years older, walked in and took a seat in the back corner and sat at the only table with no view of the football game. I'd sat near the center of the room. Fifteen years later, I walk directly to the back corner as close to out of sight as possible. I am of an age where many of my contemporaries are starting to work at their starter marriages. In my workplaces and on my sports teams, it's been a sign of success as a female to garner that fucking ring. I feel asphyxiated imagining myself in their place, but I also feel subtly pushed to the back corner of the restaurant. Fifteen years from now, when the starter marriages lay in grey ruin, maybe it will feel a little different. 6:21 p.m. - 2008-11-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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