Well this was a bit of a surprise. And by ‘surprise’ I mean heartbreaking, faith shaking, kick to the face. It’s hard to believe that less than 3 months ago I was in what I considered to be a pretty happy marriage. But that was then, and it takes two to tango, insert other lame saying here. Fast forward to today and here we are. You a pretty kick ass person for reading this blog, and me a newly single foodie.
I think the 5 stages of grief apply to the death of a relationship just as much as to the death of a loved one. And my food has definitely reflected that. Not that I’m through the stages yet… in fact I seem to bounce between them at any given moment.
First it was denial. So that was me making a family sized meal. For myself. That got old pretty quick. As good as a Quiche can be, there are only so many days you can eat it before you are ready to freak.
Then was anger. This resulted in me not being able to make anything with knives when I was in the company of certain others. Let’s just say I was feeling stabby. Not that I didn’t trust myself, but I think it was just better for everyone that I had a glass of wine for dinner instead. Yes. Much better. Though if I had been thinking clearly I would have made sure to get wine with a screw cap so that we didn’t have that cork opener incident.
Then came bargaining. While that translated into begging in my personal life, it turned into a delightful time food wise. Anything I wanted, I ate. With the deal to my inflating ass that I would go to the gym later… you know… when I wasn’t so fragile.
That brings me to the depression stage. I was hoping this would be where I would be so distraught that I would lose my appetite and thus lose the weight that I put on with ‘bargaining’. No such luck. So far I don’t feel much like I’ve hit this stage. In fact I’m still bouncing around between ‘anger’ and ‘bargaining’. But it’s early yet.
As a girl from a small town I’m country strong and know I’ll be ok. And whenever things look bleak there is always something on country radio to perk me up. Like this little number from Rodney Atkins.
This is probably why I’m not depressed enough to fit into my pants yet. Thanks Rodney.