Ten

Yesterday was the ten-year anniversary of the first time I met Mr. X.  We've been long distance almost this entire time, but there's almost a fondness in looking back at the time that separation was only by 150 miles.

For the past six months or so, since the last time I saw him, there's been a sort of litany of disaster at both ends of the extreme distance between us.  Nobody's happy, and he in particular has got a crap deal.  I've got looming issues beyond my control - but, during the past week, have been pushing back hard on what I can.  Gaining steam at work.  Gaining ground with Penelope's training.  Planning Thanksgiving with my neighbor and a friend of hers, organizing some things, looking out toward the holidays, hopefully looking at installing a fence in the backyard.

Tonight, I will take myself out in celebration.  I haven't been "dating" myself in a long time ... and yet, it's still a part of who I am.  I've just been, frankly, a bit too depressed.  Even last week, a charming acquaintance said we should meet out, and I ended up stewing in my middle-aged-overweight-lady juices, staying home and watching "Dinner at Eight."

A good movie - but an opportunity missed.

Tonight, I seize opportunity, dust myself off, make myself shiny, and see who's out even if last week's friend isn't guaranteed.  Maybe I will dance, in impractical shoes.

Tonight, I celebrate ten years of what loving X has made of me.