Dinner for One, Part Thirty-Six
“Today I caught myself smiling for no reason, then I realized I was thinking about you.”-Author Unknown
“A man is not where he lives, but where he loves.”-Latin Proverb
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”-William Shakespeare
It’s December again and I have been busy. Not busy enough, to be fair. From time to time I still find myself thinking and as much as I would like to avoid that particular trap, I find my mind is the sort that likes to think more often than not.
Well, before we get to that, let’s discuss the usual stuff, shall we? I’m alive. I’m relatively well. I have a roof over my head and friends. I am, and I mean this when I say it, blessed in many ways.
October 29th of this year, instead of lamenting my wedding anniversary at home and contemplating how little I have managed to accomplish (I need to point out here that no matter what I accomplish, I always feel it’s not enough, it’s just the way I’m programmed and I’ve come to accept this. I often have a sense of satisfaction in my accomplishments and it is just as often crushed by the need to do more. Trust me, I’m not nearly alone when it comes to this particular characteristic.) I spent the day visiting with a friend of mine and preparing for the World Fantasy Convention. From the Boston area, we drove up to Toronto and had a mighty fine time.
World Fantasy, for the record, is one of those conventions where business actually gets done. I haven’t gone to a convention that was mostly about business in a very long time.
I mention this because it’s a bit different than what I’ve done most Halloween seasons for years and years. This time around there were no decorations, I did not go to my in-laws house and help scare tykes. Instead I focused on scaring up business. Believe me when I say this: publishing is changing and I needed that chance to get a little networking done.
I had an amazing time. I reconnected with a lot of people and friends. I made new friends, ran across people I felt like I already knew and had a wonderful time. I had philosophical conversations with editors, talked about the changing market with other writers, met the family of a friend of mine I met shortly after Bonnie passed (He has a lovely wife and a beautiful baby girl and I was delighted and honored to be invited to his home to meet them.), I caught up with people I haven’t seen since before my wife passed away, people who’ve shared in my grief through long distances because sometimes in this world that’s the only available method that exists. I was challenged to write a short story in 45 minutes or less, because I am a boastful man and have often allowed that I am a word whore, and because a lovely lady who writes for a website called wordwhores.com heard my standard boast (I would gladly write Doctor Doom Versus Barbie if there was a dollar in it, but I’d make it the best damned Doctor Doom versus Barbie story I could) and said she had five bucks in her pocket. My friend who was with me took that as a good reason to run around collecting money and the next thing I knew I was sequestered in my hotel room on a Friday night writing said tale. It was read aloud a short time later. I made sixty dollars and a free bag of popcorn in exchange. I had fun and the entire story and the story of how it happened can be found here: http://genrefied.blogspot.com/2012/11/word-whore-put-up-or-shut-up-or-great.html
I flirted, which, believe me, is a bit of a rarity for me. Seriously, you have no idea. Seriously. Stick in the mud, that’s me. Always has been.
Where were we? Oh, yeah. I had a really amazing time.
And on the way back, driving down to my friend’s house, he said that it had been a successful convention and I agreed. And then I got teary-eyed, because, damn it, I felt guilty about that. Irrational, I know that, but it happened anyway. I got my mild case of the blubbers because instead of celebrating an anniversary of my marriage to my deceased wife, I had the audacity to focus on my career. And you know what my friend did? He pointed out the obvious. He pointed out that Bonnie would have preferred me working on my career. He’s right of course. I know that. My mind knows that. My heart, on the other hand, insists that guilt should be there. Partially because it felt good to get out and do something for me, instead of for someone else.
Call it a variation of survivor’s guilt if you’d like. The fact of the matter is that for the last decade I rarely went to conventions and even when I did, whenever humanly possible I took Bonnie along with me. She enjoyed the conventions and seeing our mutual friends. And sometimes that meant a rather hellish amount of scheduling to take care of her health needs. The last few times we went to conventions I had to work out the details of her dialysis, sometimes traveling 20 to 30 miles away from the convention for several hours in order to take care of medical necessities. I did it gladly, but it definitely took away from getting any work done and it left Bonnie as exhausted while on a trip as it did at home.
I’ve done a few local conventions and a couple of small cons since Bonnie passed, but this was the first professional convention (as opposed to media heavy convention) in several years. And like I said, it felt good to get out there and do my stuff.
And then the reality of the situation kicked the sin out of me and left me feeling miserable in ways that are hard to express. Guilt over doing my job. Guilt over having a good time. Guilt over feeling guilty about the aforementioned. Guilt over continuing on and trying to have a life without Bonnie. Sometimes, just now and then, mind you, guilt is a tidal wave and drowning would be the easiest thing in the world.
And then I get over the worst of that and remember that I’m supposed to live. She wanted that for me. Some days that notion is easier than it is other days, and on that drive back from Canada, while me and my bud were sharing music and comparing notes on what we were trying to accomplish with our careers and whether or not I’m moving up that way, he was good enough to remind me about what Bonnie would have wanted for me.
Sometimes I forget. It’s just that simple. More often than not I catch myself existing instead of living. Working out and writing and going to the day job does not constitute living.
And that’s part of the guilt, too. Because in October I went to a concert with several good friends and I ran across people I haven’t seen in a few years and caught up with them. I went out of town and I visited friends and I visited with friends. I went down to Savannah, Georgia and saw one of my best friends and then I hung out with a few more friends of mine for a weekend and I had a genuinely wonderful time. I relaxed and I smiled and I had fun. I socialized, and that, too, is something that was limited in a lot of ways by Bonnie’s health. Not that she wanted to cause those limitations, I need to make that clear. But when she was feeling badly enough that she could barely stand up, we left parties early or in one case left a wedding early, out of necessity. And she hated that she caused that, and I hated it for her.
And I suppose there’s a certain level of reflex in it now. There’s a part of me that feels I should be looking after Bonnie, even as I close in on the three-year anniversary of her passing. Listen, that’s a lot of conditioning. I’m working on letting go of that sort of guilt and maybe even relaxing the self-control a bit, so that I can actually try to enjoy life with a bit more regularity. But there’s also a lot of other mental debris mixed into that mess. I’m still working on being a better me, giving up on anger, giving up on the bitterness that sometimes nips at my heels and tries to color my world in unpleasant ways.
Yes, bitterness. As I have said before in different ways, this was not the happy ending I was planning for. Life came along and stole away my happily ever after and yes, now and then that notion makes me bitter. But I don’t much like being bitter, so I’m working on it. Constantly. Like the weight issues and the health issues, it’s a regular struggle. And again, and with feeling, I know that hardly makes me unique in the world. I have offered my condolences to several other people, male and female alike, who have lost their hearts to the Grim Reaper since Bonnie passed.
And on the subject of the whole health thing, my doctor when last he saw me, suggested I might ease up a bit on the rampaging self-control. Seems he’d like me to ease up a little and I don’t know, actually eat now and then. Someday. For now I still have a few pants sizes to drop. I still have my goals, no matter how skewed the might me.
It’s December, and it’s closing in on Christmas, and three years since the most important person in my life was taken from me.
And maybe it’s time to go a little easier on myself.
Maybe.
I’m working on it.
I am and I remain a work in progress.
Despite the powerful desire to curl up in a corner and hide until the New Year comes around, I will continue to write. I will continue to work out. I will continue to try this whole living thing.
And someday I might even manage to get it right.
So as I sincerely doubt there will be another of these before the holidays are done, I’ll wish one and all the happiest of holidays and as I sincerely doubt the Mayans got it right, I’ll even go so far as to wish everyone a happy New Year. May the season find you happy and healthy and with loved ones.
It is what it is.
“A man is not where he lives, but where he loves.”-Latin Proverb
“Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.”-William Shakespeare
It’s December again and I have been busy. Not busy enough, to be fair. From time to time I still find myself thinking and as much as I would like to avoid that particular trap, I find my mind is the sort that likes to think more often than not.
Well, before we get to that, let’s discuss the usual stuff, shall we? I’m alive. I’m relatively well. I have a roof over my head and friends. I am, and I mean this when I say it, blessed in many ways.
October 29th of this year, instead of lamenting my wedding anniversary at home and contemplating how little I have managed to accomplish (I need to point out here that no matter what I accomplish, I always feel it’s not enough, it’s just the way I’m programmed and I’ve come to accept this. I often have a sense of satisfaction in my accomplishments and it is just as often crushed by the need to do more. Trust me, I’m not nearly alone when it comes to this particular characteristic.) I spent the day visiting with a friend of mine and preparing for the World Fantasy Convention. From the Boston area, we drove up to Toronto and had a mighty fine time.
World Fantasy, for the record, is one of those conventions where business actually gets done. I haven’t gone to a convention that was mostly about business in a very long time.
I mention this because it’s a bit different than what I’ve done most Halloween seasons for years and years. This time around there were no decorations, I did not go to my in-laws house and help scare tykes. Instead I focused on scaring up business. Believe me when I say this: publishing is changing and I needed that chance to get a little networking done.
I had an amazing time. I reconnected with a lot of people and friends. I made new friends, ran across people I felt like I already knew and had a wonderful time. I had philosophical conversations with editors, talked about the changing market with other writers, met the family of a friend of mine I met shortly after Bonnie passed (He has a lovely wife and a beautiful baby girl and I was delighted and honored to be invited to his home to meet them.), I caught up with people I haven’t seen since before my wife passed away, people who’ve shared in my grief through long distances because sometimes in this world that’s the only available method that exists. I was challenged to write a short story in 45 minutes or less, because I am a boastful man and have often allowed that I am a word whore, and because a lovely lady who writes for a website called wordwhores.com heard my standard boast (I would gladly write Doctor Doom Versus Barbie if there was a dollar in it, but I’d make it the best damned Doctor Doom versus Barbie story I could) and said she had five bucks in her pocket. My friend who was with me took that as a good reason to run around collecting money and the next thing I knew I was sequestered in my hotel room on a Friday night writing said tale. It was read aloud a short time later. I made sixty dollars and a free bag of popcorn in exchange. I had fun and the entire story and the story of how it happened can be found here: http://genrefied.blogspot.com/2012/11/word-whore-put-up-or-shut-up-or-great.html
I flirted, which, believe me, is a bit of a rarity for me. Seriously, you have no idea. Seriously. Stick in the mud, that’s me. Always has been.
Where were we? Oh, yeah. I had a really amazing time.
And on the way back, driving down to my friend’s house, he said that it had been a successful convention and I agreed. And then I got teary-eyed, because, damn it, I felt guilty about that. Irrational, I know that, but it happened anyway. I got my mild case of the blubbers because instead of celebrating an anniversary of my marriage to my deceased wife, I had the audacity to focus on my career. And you know what my friend did? He pointed out the obvious. He pointed out that Bonnie would have preferred me working on my career. He’s right of course. I know that. My mind knows that. My heart, on the other hand, insists that guilt should be there. Partially because it felt good to get out and do something for me, instead of for someone else.
Call it a variation of survivor’s guilt if you’d like. The fact of the matter is that for the last decade I rarely went to conventions and even when I did, whenever humanly possible I took Bonnie along with me. She enjoyed the conventions and seeing our mutual friends. And sometimes that meant a rather hellish amount of scheduling to take care of her health needs. The last few times we went to conventions I had to work out the details of her dialysis, sometimes traveling 20 to 30 miles away from the convention for several hours in order to take care of medical necessities. I did it gladly, but it definitely took away from getting any work done and it left Bonnie as exhausted while on a trip as it did at home.
I’ve done a few local conventions and a couple of small cons since Bonnie passed, but this was the first professional convention (as opposed to media heavy convention) in several years. And like I said, it felt good to get out there and do my stuff.
And then the reality of the situation kicked the sin out of me and left me feeling miserable in ways that are hard to express. Guilt over doing my job. Guilt over having a good time. Guilt over feeling guilty about the aforementioned. Guilt over continuing on and trying to have a life without Bonnie. Sometimes, just now and then, mind you, guilt is a tidal wave and drowning would be the easiest thing in the world.
And then I get over the worst of that and remember that I’m supposed to live. She wanted that for me. Some days that notion is easier than it is other days, and on that drive back from Canada, while me and my bud were sharing music and comparing notes on what we were trying to accomplish with our careers and whether or not I’m moving up that way, he was good enough to remind me about what Bonnie would have wanted for me.
Sometimes I forget. It’s just that simple. More often than not I catch myself existing instead of living. Working out and writing and going to the day job does not constitute living.
And that’s part of the guilt, too. Because in October I went to a concert with several good friends and I ran across people I haven’t seen in a few years and caught up with them. I went out of town and I visited friends and I visited with friends. I went down to Savannah, Georgia and saw one of my best friends and then I hung out with a few more friends of mine for a weekend and I had a genuinely wonderful time. I relaxed and I smiled and I had fun. I socialized, and that, too, is something that was limited in a lot of ways by Bonnie’s health. Not that she wanted to cause those limitations, I need to make that clear. But when she was feeling badly enough that she could barely stand up, we left parties early or in one case left a wedding early, out of necessity. And she hated that she caused that, and I hated it for her.
And I suppose there’s a certain level of reflex in it now. There’s a part of me that feels I should be looking after Bonnie, even as I close in on the three-year anniversary of her passing. Listen, that’s a lot of conditioning. I’m working on letting go of that sort of guilt and maybe even relaxing the self-control a bit, so that I can actually try to enjoy life with a bit more regularity. But there’s also a lot of other mental debris mixed into that mess. I’m still working on being a better me, giving up on anger, giving up on the bitterness that sometimes nips at my heels and tries to color my world in unpleasant ways.
Yes, bitterness. As I have said before in different ways, this was not the happy ending I was planning for. Life came along and stole away my happily ever after and yes, now and then that notion makes me bitter. But I don’t much like being bitter, so I’m working on it. Constantly. Like the weight issues and the health issues, it’s a regular struggle. And again, and with feeling, I know that hardly makes me unique in the world. I have offered my condolences to several other people, male and female alike, who have lost their hearts to the Grim Reaper since Bonnie passed.
And on the subject of the whole health thing, my doctor when last he saw me, suggested I might ease up a bit on the rampaging self-control. Seems he’d like me to ease up a little and I don’t know, actually eat now and then. Someday. For now I still have a few pants sizes to drop. I still have my goals, no matter how skewed the might me.
It’s December, and it’s closing in on Christmas, and three years since the most important person in my life was taken from me.
And maybe it’s time to go a little easier on myself.
Maybe.
I’m working on it.
I am and I remain a work in progress.
Despite the powerful desire to curl up in a corner and hide until the New Year comes around, I will continue to write. I will continue to work out. I will continue to try this whole living thing.
And someday I might even manage to get it right.
So as I sincerely doubt there will be another of these before the holidays are done, I’ll wish one and all the happiest of holidays and as I sincerely doubt the Mayans got it right, I’ll even go so far as to wish everyone a happy New Year. May the season find you happy and healthy and with loved ones.
It is what it is.