Yes, another late night rambling. People seems to like these posts. Probably because I wrote them when I am some sort of state of feeling emotionally f*cked up.

People seem to like it.

Or they are curious.

A small portion are my friends who will likely text me tomorrow to see how I am doing. I love my friends.

When I decided to share my story. I am sharing all of it.

Even if those moments are awkward and involve a little bit of wine.

Widowhood is not glamorous. (Thank you Fergie for helping me get the spelling right.)

So it’s Saturday night and I am sitting at home, drinking wine, eating cookie dough and watching Discovery ID.

But the Chateauneuf-du-pape didn’t taste right, Homicide Hunter is not on tonight (love me some Joe Kenda) and the cookie dough didn’t taste good. Definitely not worth the salmonella risk.

F*ck it.

I actually say that a lot these days.

F*ck it.

I was always a rule follower. A good Catholic girl and then all this happens.

Seriously? This is how God thanks the faithful?

So just f*ck it.

And then I go in Bumble and Tinder.

I don’t know why.

I don’t really have any desire to date.

I was happy being Bryon’s wife. I was good at it.

But I am just as good at being single.

It’s the sh*t in between that I am not good at.

And I have no desire for hookups. Partially because there is still the moral remnants of the good Catholic girl I used to be.

But more importantly, I am not going to parade strange men around my daughter during her formative years.

It’s bad enough her father’s dead. I am not going to confuse her any further.

But when I am doing all that swiping right and swiping left, it feels empty compared that what I used to have.

Should I fall in love again, I want it to be a little more romantic than swiping right and left.

Also, Tinder and Bumble do this thing where they show mutual Facebook friends.

I got freaked out by how many people were in Bryon’s circles. I could tell by the mutual friends if people would know Bryon from politics, college or the Masons.

I wrote about people always viewing me as Bryon’s widow.

It also turns out I have just as much of a hangup.

Bryon and I lived a respectable and traditional life with certain values and rules.

But I no longer ascribe to a lot of those rules and I think that would freak people out.

I have come into my own since I became a widow. I have never been so secure in who I am than I am right now.

I don’t even like who I was before.

But somedays, I would give it all up if it meant I could have Bryon and my old life back.

And this hangup doesn’t stop at people who know Bryon. Bryon and I were together 8 years. We have so many memories in this town.

There are so many places I avoid because the memories are too painful.

How long can I do that?

I’m just going to delete that Tinder and Bumble sh*t in the morning.

Because…f*ck Bumble and Tinder.

I don’t even give people a chance to be freaked out that I am Bryon’s widow because I have already decided that everyone is freaked out.

But can anyone blame me?

A widow spends so much time making others feel better about her loss.

It’s kind of f*cked up.

She’s the one who lost her spouse, her identity, her life. It’s her reality that she lives every single day and it becomes her job to make sure people aren’t uncomfortable for the short span of time that her reality makes them uncomfortable.

I dread dating because I hear from other widows that our widow status freaks men out.

F*ck that.

I have been to Hell and back I am not hiding my battle scars. One doesn’t survive what I have without being a badass.

If I ever love again, that man has to love me: battle scars and all.