Divorce Pasta

A friend who is getting divorced, writes me a quick email:

Just cooking some pasta, wandering from kitchen then back to my office to read your blog, back to kitchen to check on the shells. Not cooked yet..

Back to Blogsville -- some great stuff ... and then back to the pasta -- shells, cherry tomatoes, broccolli, garlic, olive oil, salt, pepper -- it's a special recipe I'll call "divorce pasta" as I notice everything is cooked, EXCEPT I didn't have the wherewithal to cook the broccolli which is VERY al dente, i.e. raw and hard as a rock.

What the hell, better than forgetting to cook the noodles. My life is total shit with my soon-to-be-ex doing everything to beg me to stay. Too little, too late. I point this out. Presto chango, he's doing everything to make me leave. I'm staying put. He's the guy leaving.

The days are like a bad school play -- everyone forgetting their lines, no one hitting their marks. Things just drop out, things like cooking the broccoli. It's all about going out of the house with one earring on or going to the store without your wallet or pulling over on the side of the road to cry for a few minutes and then ... you muddle through the rest of the day.

You find yourself arriving at nighttime, not at all sure how you got there, but suspect the puffy eyes in your mirror and a few empty cans of Diet Coke around the house may have something to do with it. You notice with shock and surprise you've made it through another painful day. Many kind friends from all over -- blogfriends, workfriends, friendfriends are flapping their angel wings around me and caring for me, helping me and cheering me, so I can't complain. Oh, but please let me!

Go for it, whine, complain, bitch, moan, keen. Girlfriend, not to worry, this too shall pass. I kinda like the recipe anyway.