I can’t stand being on the ship right now; two weeks on this beautiful floating iron prison feels like an eternity and I keep hoping for the onset of Stockholm Syndrome so I can at least get warm and fall asleep…wait, that’s freezing to death. I am going to fabricate my own romance, I think. I don't need it to be real, I just need something to get me through, especially on the long and mindless days of our private island purgatory. How I long for Alcatraz or the Green Mile. Like finding adventure in mundane tasks again; which I always seem best at with company. Living in the land of make believe and wishes and beautiful babies and happy families is killing me right now. I keep hearing that, “no matter how your heart is grieving…” and I want to yell, it's all just bullsh*t, the mouse lied to me!!! But I remain...optimistic.
Word is starting to spread like wildfire that I am getting divorced and the uncomfortable meat market that already plagued my first contract as I pushed away attackers who felt a marriage was not a barrier so much as a landmark goal, is compounding upon itself. I have been assigned twice this week to singles lunch, a generally innocuous event intended to give adults traveling with family but without a companion someone to pal around with. However, the first time this week, when I arrived there was but one gentleman, around 3o or so, eating ice cream. “Starting with dessert, I see?” I queried innocently. “No, I already had lunch. I just wanted to see who’d be here. So, are you married?” Funny that. “Yes” was my only response. Second singles lunch, blessedly I share with another cruise staffer, this time one older woman in her fifties arrives, looking for a hookup who won’t steal her money-she doesn’t want food, just a glass of wine and has her family in the restaurant poised to take pictures. That’s just weird. “So, do you have a significant other here?”, she asks, while my partner is crime is off at the buffet loading her plate with crabs. “No”, I answer. “But, you’re so young. You don’t have anyone in your life?” F*ck. Fine, I confess, “Oh, I have a husband but he’s back home.” My co-pilot returns. “How does your husband feel about you being on the ship?” Oh boy…before I can respond, my cruise staff partner in overeating drops the crab on its way to her mouth and chimes in, “well, my boyfriend understands I have to work and he travels a lot as well.” I throw her an appreciative glance and make a quick departure. I am once again the Universe’s punchline.
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