So, having made a blog post only a few hours ago, I stayed up late chatting with a friend (yes, THAT friend).  We were both watching CNN while chatting, and laughing at President Obama’s half-brother, Mark Obama Ndesandjo, who would not answer Larry King’s questions and instead kept going on and on and on about his novel.  He seemed so arrogant, talking about how his novel has themes that will resonate the world over, how much of it was autobiographical, etc., when King wanted to talk about the President.  I thought about how sad it was that this guy believed he was on Larry King because he wrote a book, as if that’s more important than his insights on the President–at least to everyone except him and maybe his publisher–but maybe not.

And I’m just as bad.  How many pages of this blog have I filled with whining about myself, how depressed I am, how my friends aren’t giving me enough of their time, how my sensei has mistreated me?

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been sitting alone in restaurants, reading a book called Loneliness.  The conclusion was this:  Being lonely is like being hungry.  But you can’t ask people to feed you.  Instead, you have to feed other people.  The cure for loneliness is to turn your focus outward.

So I’m going to stop whining.  For the next three weeks, whenever I post to this blog, it will be with the idea that what I’m writing might help someone else who is having a hard time in life, someone who is depressed or lonely or grieving a death or just having to relocate and leave friends and familiar places behind.

And here’s the first of these posts, offered in the hope of feeding someone else:  The author of the book also discusses one of the reasons why so many of us are lonely–mobility.  We go off to school, join the military and move overseas, let our companies transfer us from one state to another in order to gain experience.  As a result, we don’t have any longstanding friends, people we’ve lived next to all our lives.  We sit in our houses in the center of a manicured lawn in some suburb that looks like every other suburb in every other city, and we wonder why we don’t have friends.  We decide that all we need are our spouses.  We make our spouses into our best friends and convince ourselves that we don’t need anyone else.  That makes for a happy marriage–I was very happy with this arrangement for more than 25 years.

But then our spouses die, and we find we have no one.  I have discovered from personal experience that the time to find good friends who will help you through the weeks and months that follow is BEFORE your spouse dies.

Start now.  Find the friends that will help you when you lose your other half.  Be that friend.  Eventually, half of every married couple is going to need good friends.  Don’t wait, because you can’t know which of you will die first or when.  Plan ahead.

Just a little food for thought.

I got some good news yesterday.  The management company at my new apartment building is running a special and won’t require any rent from me until January 1.  My current apartment was re-rented as of December 5, saving me about $500.  I just about break even in changing apartments.

I almost have my submission to the Virginia Screenwriters Forum ready, after working on it all day yesterday.  I decided to skip Act 2 of my screenplay and get critiques on Act 3 instead.  I haven’t told this group that I’m moving for fear that they will remove me from the rotation or decide not to bother with thorough critiques.

I then went to the bank to dispute the $125 tuition that was withdrawn from my account by  Sensei–or rather, the company that performs this function for him.  If he refuses to return the money, the next letter he receives will be from my attorney.

I wonder if, in a strange way, he’s trying to keep me on.  Are we both refusing to contact the other and work out our differences, what I perceive as unfair treatment versus his belief that my expectations weren’t realistic?  Or has he given me so little thought that he didn’t remember to remove me from the roll?

As I write this, I know it must seem odd to be giving so much thought to my relationship with Sensei.  I’m sure most people see him as simply someone I paid for instruction in a hobby I have, someone who owned the place where I went to get some exercise.  He was more than that; he was a mentor, a friend and the closest person to a father I had here in Virginia.  What he thought about me and how I was living my life mattered to me.  To be ignored by him now hurts.

After filling out the paperwork to dispute the debit to my account, I went to the theater.  I first saw The Fourth Kind, thinking how much my mother would have enjoyed seeing it given how interested she was in UFO lore.  I went to dinner eager to dig my journal out of my bag and write down a story idea inspired by the movie.  I returned to see The Men Who Stare at Goats. I then went home, suddenly depressed because I had no one to talk to about the movies.  I hadn’t even asked anyone to go, having been disappointed too many times in the last six months, since Cyd died.

It’s hard to really enjoy a movie when you can’t share that enjoyment.

###

Today I found out that my married male friend has read my blog.  I don’t know how far he went back, if  he just read the post I made about him or if he read others.  He didn’t seem to know what to say about what I wrote about him, so I don’t know if he felt bad about standing me up for the movie, if he’s angry because I practically accused him of driving me out of Virginia or if he’s embarrassed because I admitted that I found him attractive.  Chatting online is frustrating because I can’t read his face, and he keeps his text so. . . .I’m not sure how to describe it except to say that it’s unsatisfying.  I desperately need to spend some time just talking about Hal and everything I’ve gone through with a sympathetic friend, but he seems determined not to be that friend.  Is he just one of those people that can’t stand to talk about emotional things?  Is it that he doesn’t feel it’s appropriate?

What if after our chat sessions he feels bad that he can’t offer me the help I need?  What if he dreads every communication because he knows I’m in pain?  Or maybe that’s not the way he feels at all.  Maybe he dreads every communication because he has to pretend to care about my problems.  Maybe he’s just too polite to tell me that were we not in the same club, he would not want to know me.

I almost asked my friend for that favor, even though I knew I’d be asking for too much. “I need to cry,” I told him, then sat in front of my computer, hoping that he would offer to help me or at least ask why I needed help.  Instead, he told me he thought crying was overrated.

It looks like I won’t get my crying done before I go.

Were I still on active duty and counting the days until I leave Virginia, I would say 26 days and a wake-up, because by dinnertime on the 27th day (November 30) I will be in West Virginia.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the Trill.  They were a species of humanoid that appeared in an episode of Star Trek:  The Next Generation and then as a regular character played by Terry Farrell on Star Trek:  Deep Space Nine.  The Trill were really two species:  a humanoid host and a symbiont, which was a sort of slug about the size of a newborn.  The hosts die after a normal humanoid lifespan, and the symbiont is implanted in another host, living for many hundreds of years.

I feel like a Trill about to change hosts.  The current host, the woman I am now, is going to be left behind at the Virginia/West Virginia line.  She will be easy to discard, since she’s been dead since September 28, 2007, when her husband succumbed to cancer.  Since then she’s been shuffling to the grocery store, to club meetings and movie theaters like the zombies in George Romero’s movies, who have vague memories of going to the mall while alive and so congregate there when dead.

This summer, something inside me has started to wake up and move around.  It wants out, to be born or maybe to burst out of my chest as if I were Kane in Alien.  It’s tired of this host, this dead thing that’s been dragging it around Virginia for two years.  It’s been whispering to me all summer, saying, “It’s time to go.”

There’s a new host body in West Virginia.  She’s not as young or fit or thin as my little symbiont self would like her to be, but she’ll have to do.  She will at least be alive.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the difficulty of having a male friend who is married.  In particular, I’ve been thinking of one married friend.

As I’ve said in previous posts, having a married male friend when you’re not also friends with his wife is tricky.  There’s a line between being friends and engaging in an emotional affair that shouldn’t be crossed, and of course it’s up to my friend and his wife to decide where that line is.  Unfortunately, the line isn’t where I would like it to be or even where I need it to be, but what can I do about it?  If I am to be a good friend and an ethical person, there’s nothing I can do.  It is what it is.

Now, this friend is quite attractive, at least to me; I’ve always liked men of his ethnicity.  More than that, we have a lot in common, having grown up in the same area of the country and pursuing similar curricula in college.  We have at times talked about a lot of things we both enjoy.  But I never wanted to date him–I’m neither date-ready nor date-worthy–the closest I’ve come is to imagine that one day I might find someone very much like him to share my life with.

If I were to have my way, my friend and I would regularly meet for a meal or to go to a movie together or just to hang out, as people say.  In fact, this is something that I’ve very much needed, especially this summer, when I’ve been terribly depressed and lonely.  And although I knew that our friendship was, by necessity, very limited, I’ve been hurt when I’ve asked to get together and he has refused.

I’ve been angry with him for the past three weeks, since I invited both him and his wife to see a movie with me only to be told that they can’t make it because “his lunch didn’t agree with him.”  I’ve been told that too many times in the past year or so to believe it’s anything but an excuse.  I sat in the theater, the only person watching the movie, and was angry and sad and hurt.  I thought about all the times when he has disappointed me, especially earlier this year when I was feeling suicidal and trying to tell him, but he refused to understand. I thought about the one last task I want to complete before I leave Virginia, how I’ve wanted to ask him to help me with it but didn’t dare because it comes too close to that line between what’s right and what’s not–even for me.

It was this last disappointment that caused me to finally decide that I need to leave this life behind.  In a way, I’m leaving this friend as much as I’m leaving the memories of my life with Hal.  He’s just one of several friends, all of whom have done what they could for me but who are all, like him, limited by the circumstances of their own lives, which of course must come first.  Since deciding to move, I’ve been thinking about how I can avoid getting into a similar fix in Colorado.

At first I thought I would blame my needing to leave on this friend, but that isn’t fair.  For a while I thought that among the problems I’m escaping by moving is my problem with him, that I could stop torturing myself trying to figure out how to make him a better friend and just let the friendship go altogether.  For a few days I entertained myself with the fantasy that it would be only after I’m gone that he would realize what he missed out on by keeping his distance, but that’s not fair to me–it keeps me here instead of letting me focus on my new life.

And then, suddenly, I knew what I had to do, and I’ll set out to do it immediately after finishing this post.

I’m going to get my wedding rings resized, and I’m going to start wearing them again.  This is something a lot of single women do so they don’t have to endure being constantly hit on by men.  What I hope to achieve by wearing my rings is something similar–if I’m thought to be married, can I have a married male friend?

This might seem to be a strange thing to do if I’m trying to leave widowhood behind and begin a new life without Hal.  But I won’t be doing it in order to hang onto him, but only to ease myself into new relationships.  Instead of announcing early on that I’m a widow, which makes me an object of pity, I can say nothing and let people assume that I have a spouse somewhere.  In a way, wearing my rings would free me to simply be myself–not a mourning widow, not a single woman looking for a man, but just a woman open to friendship with whomever might come into her life, a woman someone will want to go  to a movie with.

For the first time since joining the Virginia Screenwriters’ Forum a year ago, I drove back from the meeting without crying the entire time.  In fact, I didn’t cry at all.

Today I designed a new blog on WordPress.  On November 30 I will make my final entry to this one, and on December 1, I begin the new one:  todoratoo.  I will also be finishing the book I’ve been working on for the last year, Countdown.  At one time, I was counting down to suicide; last night I changed the number of weeks remaining to 5–I’m counting down to the day when I leave Virginia and start my life over.

My next book will be called Year 1.

I’m writing this quick post out of anger and as a warning to my friends and those who read this blog.

In March, when I decided to move, I realized that I needed an entertainment center for the 60″ flat screen TV that until then had sat on a shelf above my fireplace.  I went to Haverty’s and got a line of credit so I could buy something of good quality.  Haverty’s assured me that I was getting 12 months same as cash.  Fine.  I knew that I’d have to pay this off by March of 2010 or pay some very hefty interest, not just as of next March but all the way back to the date of my original purchase.

Earlier this month I went back to buy a desk and file cabinet, since my old ones did not fare well in the move and certainly would not survive another move.  I was offered the same deal–12 months with no interest.  For the desk and file cabinet, I had until October 2010 before I would have to pay interest.

This month I got a notice in the mail that Haverty’s is changing the agreement.  As of December, I’m being charged 26%.  Fortunately, I decided to pay off my credit debt off prior to moving, so I no longer owe Haverty’s anything, but I’m still angry.  This is not what I agreed to.  Haverty’s, having sucked me in with the great deal, changes the deal thinking I’ll have no choice but to pay an outrageous interest rate.

Do not buy furniture at Haverty’s.  This company doesn’t deserve anyone’s business.

Today I went out to run errands in preparation for my move, and before I was done I was an additional $1,500 in debt.

I first went to Sports Authority for a pair of hiking boots that will keep my feet warm and still allow me to do a lot of walking.  $70.

I then went to the nearest gun shop for a small gun safe.  I never felt the need to lock up my pistol, but in Denver my nieces and nephew will be regular visitors.  The safe arrives on Monday. $130.

I then went to Merchant Tire, where I spent most of the afternoon.  My tires were too bald for an 1,800 mile trip through the midwest in December, so I bought a set of snow/mud tires.  While I was there, I had the mechanics tell me what kind of oil, brake fluid and coolant to buy, how to check the levels and where to add fluids if necessary. I had always let my dealer do all this, but for a trip across 7 states, I felt the need to educate myself.  I also lay on the floor of the garage while the mechanic made sure that I knew how to retrieve my spare and use my jack. $1,100.

I went to Catherine’s hoping to find a coat suitable for a Colorado winter, but nothing even came close.  The only possibility was a sort of squall jacket.  I tried on two of them, and both had stubborn zippers.  I had to order a parka online.  While I was online I got a cableknit sweater that I can pull over just about anything as an additional layer.  $182.

I still have to buy a roadside emergency kit–or at least some reflective triangles.  One of those big broom things for getting snow off my truck would also be nice.

###

Merchant Tire is within sight of my dojo.  I sat for a time in the waiting room, thinking about whether I could walk back through those doors to say goodbye.  I think I can, and I will sometime next month.  I need the closure, and I think Sensei does also.

Last year about this time I wrote about something I needed to do, about a favor I needed from a friend.  I still haven’t received that help, and I worry that I won’t be able to start over until I can get this task done.  Time is short, suddenly.  I went to bed thinking about it, and had an anxiety attack.

I don’t think I’ve had a bad day since deciding to move.  And I’ve lost 6 pounds.

Several of my fellow Toastmasters told me last week that they will miss me.  It was the same at my writer’s group–maybe more so because they have to find someone among them who wants to be the chapter president.  The management and maintenance staff of my apartment building are sorry to see me go.

There has been no word, though, from my sensei, and that hurts.  After 10 years, my “career” as a karate-ka, a practitioner of Okinawan shorin-ryu karate, ends in a long email and a short letter.  Is my sensei sorry to see me go or am I just one of several that leave the dojo every few weeks or months, a name to be crossed off a list and given no more thought?  It would seem so.  However, it’s occurred to me that my sensei is sitting in his office, wondering how I can leave him so easily, wondering if he’s just a name that gets crossed off my list.  Is he waiting for me to come in and apologize?  Is he waiting for me to come in so he can apologize?  I have no way of knowing.

The question, then, is this:  Do I have the courage to go into the dojo and find the answers to these questions?  Is it worth the confrontation (or at least, the uncomfortable conversation) to have the chance to say goodbye to my fellow students, to sensei’s wife and daughter?  If I don’t go in, will I be walking away with my head up or skulking away like a petulant child?  Will going in make it easier or harder to leave Virginia?

What if Sensei tells me that he has reconsidered and will promote me if I stay long enough to take the next black belt test?  If I were to stay (a near impossibility now), will that black belt mean anything to me knowing that I had to pitch a fit in order to get it?  If I leave, will I always regret not sticking it out?  I think what I’m most afraid of now is that if I see Sensei, I’ll hear something that will make me want to reconsider moving, and I’ve felt better than I have in two years since deciding to go.

I wonder if I’ve mentioned how much Hal wanted me to earn my black belt.  A few weeks before he died, he told me that he hoped I would continue with the martial arts.  I feel as though I’m letting him down.

###

One of my friends from Toastmasters wants to throw me a going-away party.  I’m not sure how I feel about it.

This is the woman I spent the last month coaching for a speech contest.  I was sorry to see her not win the contest, which was this past weekend, but I think I did help her improve considerably.  For the last month, I picked her up at her home, drove her to dinner at a restaurant, paid for dinner, and then worked with her on her speech. I know that she would like to pay me back for all that.  I didn’t do those things with the expectation that I’d get something equivalent in return, and yet I would like to give her the chance to reciprocate, knowing how uncomfortable it makes me when I can’t repay a friend’s kindness.

I agreed to let her arrange a party.  I asked if she would invite friends from the writer’s group.  I agreed to reserve the club room in my building.  And yet I’m on the third day of owing her a phone call about it.

It feels odd to want a party for myself–self-centered and selfish.  Also, I worry that I’ll break down when I see all the friends I won’t ever see again, making everyone feel bad and ruining my own party.  It’s hard enough to say goodbye–being widowed means that I can’t predict how I’ll feel or how I’ll react.

A large part of me just wants to disappear, but I know I can’t do that.  It wouldn’t be right not to allow any closure to my friends.  And I want photos of everyone.

So I suppose I’m having a party.  Now to call my friend.

My application for my apartment in Denver has been approved, so I’ve given notice to my current landlord.  I’m going.  I’m definitely going.  I’ve begun to think about the last time I’m going to do some things here in Virginia.

1. I attend the 4th  to last Toastmasters event today, a contest that a fellow club member is competing in.  I will miss the next meeting, then attend the first meeting in November, a speechathon and then an educational session at the fall conference.  I’ll be done with Toastmasters then for at least a year.  I have several friends I will miss, whom I will talk about in a later post.
2. I attend the 2nd to last meeting of my writer’s club today.  I joined this group several years ago when it was run by others who have since drifted away.  I turned it into a chapter of the Virginia Writers Club and have run it since then, having been unsuccessful in getting anyone to take over for me.  Someone will have to now.  I have friends I will miss here, too–a couple of really good ones.
3. Later this month I will attend my 2nd to last meeting of the screenwriter’s forum.  I know no one there well enough to miss.

I suppose I should take a sort of tour of the area, visiting the places I used to live and driving around the base.  I want to take some time to remember the life I had here with Hal.  We met here, after all, and were married here.  On December 1st I will put this place behind me, and although Hal’s remains will be with me in the truck as I point myself west, in a very real way I will be leaving him behind me as well.

I wonder if I’ll cry all the way to Colorado.

This is not what I want.

In the Denver neighborhood I want to move to, only one apartment has a floor plan that works for me.  It comes available on November 5th, so I have to move quickly to secure it.  I have to sign the lease by December 5th.  So I’m suddenly in a hurry to leave Virginia.

Maybe it’s best to move quickly now that I’ve made up my mind.  I’ll be too busy doing all it takes to move across the country that I won’t have time to indulge in second thoughts.

So this is the second to last phase of my transition from happily married woman to a single working woman.  I have two years of money left; my plan is to spend the first year doing nothing but writing, as if Denver were an extended writing retreat.  I have one year to establish a writing career that will support me.  If I fail, I have another year to find a job.  But at least I’ll go into that job knowing that I did all I could to realize my dream, and I’ll be able to let it go.

I’m nervous and excited.  It feels good.