Where was I?
A lot of time has passed between my last post and this one. I don’t know for sure, since I’m typing away in my Word program and not on the blog site. A lot I know.
I’m suddenly thinking of a book called “Blood Relatives”, a detective story that hinges around a diary that’s had its lock cut open. The detective wonders why anyone would keep a diary, except to have someone read it someday. And here I am in a sort of similar situation, writing out my thoughts to … no one really. Just to me, really except that I’ll publish them to the web and maybe somebody will see them. Maybe.
This post was inspired by a vanity plate.
Between my last post and this, a number of significant events have occurred in my life. One of them was the firewall at work was adjusted so that anything with the word “blogspot” in the URL got blocked. So I don’t read Ken Levine much anymore and I tend not to make postings to my own site. It was just so much easier to do from work than from home.
Tonight no one I know is online and the snowstorm outside has begun in earnest on this the first day of winter and none of this has anything to do with what I wanted to write about.
Significant events. I started running again. I didn’t like how round I was looking. I got round after going on anti-depressants. I wonder if I’d written about that anywhere in previous posts. Yes? No? Maybe? I probably did because I vaguely recall lamenting that one cool side effect that was a hidden super-power. Too hidden. I’m fond of telling people about two other side effects, not the super-power one. Appetite and apathy, I say. So I ate and I stopped running. I put on weight. I got round. I got unhappy with the way I looked and I started running again, two years later.
I got separated.
I’m still friends with my son’s mom (which sounds so much better than “ex”). Still friends with her family (I think). I vividly recall a conversation with her sister when she asked me if I was looking forward to getting out there and meeting new people. NO! I replied vehemently. I had enough trouble finding dates when I was young and single.
Now I’m old and single. And it’s turning out to be every bit the problem I thought it might be. Well, it’s only been a few months, after all. But I’ve started noticing things. I signed up to a couple of dating sites and saw the same patterns at both places; a mini-rush of interest in “the new guy” and then nothing. I started off looking for company and then for a while became more determined to try to get an actual date. That didn’t work at all (a bad failing for a dating site). I removed my profiles.
I’m still only partially getting to what I really wanted to write about which is empty promises. These have been coming from both the on-line world and in real life. From women and men, acquaintances, colleagues, golfing buddies, prospective paramours. I’ll invite you over some time. You’ll have to come and join us for poker. I’ll be sure to come and see you. Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.
As I spend another evening by myself, maybe here at the computer or running or in the other room watching TV or playing a game, or maybe even sitting alone at the movies, I’m beginning to grow ever thickening layers of bitterness and suspicion. Suspicion toward remarks of bonhommerie and bitterness steeped from being alone.
I don’t mind being alone unless I’m lonely. Another really good coping phrase.
The vanity plate read: TRSTNO1.
My “opening line” on the dating sites was “Hope is the thing with feathers”. I hope things will get better, but hope has only gotten me bashed over the head so far.
There still are a few promises outstanding. We’ll see how it goes.