I'm so tired of being alone

I'm normally an introvert. I enjoy solitude and quiet. But, when every night you eat dinner alone, then go to bed alone, it wears on you. Anywhere you go - out to lunch, to a concert, anything - you're alone. It's bad enough when you're single, but to me, it seems worse when you're in a relationship and still you're alone. It's the worst of both worlds.
For eight years, I was married to a man who mostly worked in kitchens. Except for that one year he worked construction, our marriage was almost a part-time deal. We didn't see each other very often. He never had weekends off, so we couldn't go anywhere or do anything together. His schedule changed every week, so we couldn't make plans together.
And somehow I've ended up in another relationship that's just the same. My new bf is a great guy, but he works for the Red Cross. He works 6 to 7 days a week, often 10- to 14-hour days, with overnight travel common each week. His days off are also pretty random (and rare).
I don't want to break it off with him - he has shown me a lot of kindness, caring, and willingness to listen and try to meet my needs. He basically moved heaven and earth to be with me on my birthday. That was so great of him to do, but it also clues me in that because it was such a major deal, he won't be able to do it again. So, it's pretty much out of the question to make any plans with him. Two things are going on this week I would have really liked to have gone to with him: Yonder Mountian String Band last night at George's, and Tango Fire Saturday night. He was too tired last night and will probably work Saturday.
Sure, there's nothing stopping me from going to the shows and concerts I want to see, but somehow it's not as much fun to go by yourself. Try this: the next place you go, whether it's a restaurant, a performance, whatever, just look around. Notice if there are any people there by themselves. It's rare. Mostly, people come out to public venues *with* other people, either partners or friends. A single person sticks out like a sore thumb. In some venues, like bars or nightclubs, it actually feels hostile to be all alone - people assume you're single and judge you based on that assumption.
I'm just not sure I can do this - this alone-all-the-time-but-not-single thing - anymore. I'm tired of the predominant feeling in my life being "missing" someone. I'm tired of having all the loneliness of being single, but not being able to date.

The value of a marriage, in dollars

Today I did it - I sold my wedding dress & ring. What a haul:
One 14K gold wedding band, white & yellow gold, $400 new = $22.
One 1920s style lace sheath dress, $200 new + one faux-pearl beaded headdress, $25 new = $18 store credit at a resale shop.
Wow - what a fortune. I guess it sorta sums up the marriage in general - a really poor investment.
So I splurged with my newfound wealth & bought a Roller Girls T-shirt, a brown dress, and a skirt at the resale shop. Later, I ate lunch at a cheap Chinese food buffet.
So I guess this is the good life, lol.

I'm done with it

It's been about 4 months since my marriage ended (see my blog post: scryberwitch.multiply.com/journ...End.). It seems like it's been a lot longer than that - I've worked through the grieving process and even started dating again (by accident, actually).
I had made a vow that after the holidays were over, I would get the paperwork and start the process of filing for divorce. We don't have any kids or property together, so it should go smoothly. It's now 18 days into the new year, and I finally got online and got the information I need to take to my ex and get this started. I don't feel sad at all. Just disappointed, kinda. I went through my closet and threw away all our wedding pictures and memorabilia, and tomorrow I'm taking my dress to a consignment shop and selling my ring. The End.

When it rains, it pours

More financial woe...my poor little car - a beat-up, 14-year-old Geo - may be on its last legs. For four years, it has run well and been very reliable. But recently things keep going out, and since I'm too poor to fix them, they keep getting worse.
First, the solonoid started sticking. What that means is, once in a while, it won't start. In that case, I have to pop the hood, get out, and tap the solonoid with a tire-iron. Then it starts OK.
Then, the alternator belt started squealing. I replaced it, but within a week, it was squealing again. It obviously needs tightening, but I can't afford to do that.
On top of that, my mom broke my inside door latch, so it doesn't open from the inside. For months, I've had to roll down the window to let myself out. All that rolling up & down caused my window to come off track, so now it's a major pain in the ass to get in and out of the car.
And last but not least, yesterday my battery died. I'm waiting for a ride to take it to the battery center & get it charged (and pick it up tomorrow). It's frustrating - out here in my neck of the woods, there isn't any public transportation to speak of, so if you work, you must have a car. I'm hoping to keep the little thing limping along for just a couple more months, till I get my tax refund, and then I'll fix all the crap that's been piling up. Wish me luck.

On sugar daddies

Over on XX Factor, there’s a great discussion about that old stand-by fantasy: the sugar daddy. Particularly, how young journalists, facing such brutal economic times, might be tempted into a sort of “accidental concubine” position. You know the story: the plucky, independent-yet-starving creative girl who gets “rescued” by the knight in shining armour, enabling her to continue her artsy-fartsy ways while still enjoying a middle- (or upper-) class lifestyle.

As a child of working-class people in the ’70s, I never indulged in that fantasy. My world was filled with adult women who worked - mostly out of economic necessity, but the idea that a man would come along and “rescue” them from work was never an option. Working was just what adults did to provide for their families. And experience had shown that you can’t depend on a man, so you’d better have some job skills, sister. As a young woman, I was expected go to college - not to snag a man, but to get an education that would bestow better earning power than my foremothers before me had.

And yet I find myself in a strange situation. Since graduating with my master’s in journalism in May, I have not been able to find a decent full-time job, which left me pretty much dependent on my husband until he left several months later. With no other support, I burned through my savings to pay the bills while working several part-time and/or freelance jobs.

I’m in a very tough situation - because I have so little left in my savings, I may well end up homeless if my income doesn’t pick up soon. And I have no family to help me; my mom & sister already share a one-bedroom apartment.

Here’s where it gets weird: I just started dating again, and the man I’m seeing makes decent scratch working for the Red Cross. My die-hard feminist pride would never allow me to ask my new boyfriend to let me move in with him. But if I got to that point - where I could no longer pay the rent - I’m sure he’d ask me to. Which brings up the burning question: which is better - living in a car with my dignity intact, or moving into my boyfriend’s house and feeling like a concubine (or at the very least, a charity case)?

The funny thing is, I’ve usually been on the other side of this equation. Quite a few of my past boyfriends came to live with me because they were out of work. I suppose if my boyfriend and I had been going out longer - in other words, had a more established relationship - I wouldn’t be so conflicted about it. But it is what it is, and all I can do is keep my fingers crossed while I scan the want ads.

Update, after two years

Looking back over my previous entries, it is amazing how much my life has changed - how much I have changed. For one thing, yes, I did go to grad school, and graduated in May of this year. I still haven't found a job that I can actually live on, but I am now working for the local community access TV station doing event co-ordinating, which is very fulfilling.
My son is 18, a big deal, but doesn't graduate until 2010. I don't dance anymore, and only do henna on myself or friends - and even then, rarely. I'm mostly trying to make it as a writer, which is really random and doesn't pay well.
But the biggest change is more recent - in September, right before our eighth anniversary, my husband left me. I spent a couple months dealing with that (see my posts: scryberwitch.multiply.com/journ...e_End. , scryberwitch.multiply.com/journ...ing_up , scryberwitch.multiply.com/journ...em/111 ). And surprisingly, I find myself dating again (post here: scryberwitch.multiply.com/journ...onship ).
I feel like a totally different person than the one who wrote these last entries two years ago. And maybe I am.

I'm back!

Well, here I am with my tail between my legs. I left Tribe.net for one of those other networking sites...and I have to say, it was a mistake. I have so many more friends here, and I get so many more responses to my blog posts. So, tribe friends, will you have me back?

My new favorite show

I confess; I have a weakness for animated shows. I've been in love with the Simpsons since I first "discovered them" in syndication several years ago. I'm a big fan of Futurama, also created by Matt Groening. Back in the day, MTV's "Liquid Television" was *the* place to catch new, experimental animation (it's where both Beavis & Butthead and Aeon Flux got their start - both shows I *love.*). Ren & Stimpy, Pinky & the Brain, the Tick...I've been devoted to them all at one point or another.
And I've just discovered a new love. The Oblongs, created by Angus Oblong, airing on Adult Swim and TBS. It's actually in syndication, since it originally aired in 2001 and lasted only 13 episodes. But this show has got to be the most radical, subversive thing I have *ever* seen.
Just a quick summary: the Oblongs are a family of variously-mutated people living in Hill Valley. The dad, an armless-and-legless torso named, hilariously enough, Bob, is the button-down, pipe-smoking dad straight out of the 1950's. Pickles, the tall matriarch, chain smokes and drinks. But that doesn't make her a bad mother. The kids are Biff & Chip, conjoined twins; Milo, the bald middle child with every known childhood disorder; and Beth, the cute-as-a-button 4-year-old with an enormous growth sticking out of her head.
The Oblongs live in the Valley - the toxic, polluted wasteland where all the poor people live. Up above them and the cloud of smog, the Hill folk are surrounded by pristine, manicured lawns, live in big houses, and all look exactly alike.
It is in this setting - a microcosm of modern America - that the issues of class are confronted head-on. On the surface, it's just a strangely-morbid sitcom about a mutant family. But barely scratch the surface and you see laid bare the Big American Lie: namely, that we have no classes and everyone can attain the American dream if we just work hard and try hard enough. No other show (that I'm aware of) deals with economic class issues in such a frank, honest, in-your-face way.
I'll spare you my full sociological analysis of the show (since I want to save it for Ms. Magazine), but for more info you can check out the creator's site: www.angusoblong.net/theoblongs.html , or for more in-depth treatment of the characters and history of the show, the Wikipedia entry: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Oblongs . And, of course, you can catch the show yourself on Cartoon Network's Adult Swim at 10:00 CST (opposite another fave, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart). The show also airs on TBS on Saturdays, between 2 and 5 am.

Memorial Day

Monday was great - we had my folks and a couple of friends over to just hang out, eat hamburgers & hot dogs, and play games. It was a lot of fun.
But the *best* thing about Monday was, I got the whole house really clean. Even though my hubby is home all day (he works like 3 nights a week), he doesn't clean the house very much. He gets offended when I say this, because he claims he cleans. But it's very slap-dash: he'll clean only one room, like the bathroom, and the rest of the house still looks like a pit. And what he does clean, he doesn't clean all that well. The inch of dust on the entertainment center will attest to that.
So my mom brought out a vacuum for us to borrow and I cleaned the *shit* out of my house. We haven't had a working vacuum in months, so the carpet was *filthy.* Now, the house looks so good...it made me feel so much better. I have a classic Type A Personality; when my surroundings aren't neat and orderly, I'm tense and annoyed. So just having a clean house has made me more relaxed. I know, it's picky...but I believe it's a behavior we evolved for a reason.
Think about it: if your home is dirty, you have a much higher chance of breeding disease in that dirt. And of course it will attract parasites & vermin. A dirty home - especially if that home is a cave or a tent in the wilds of the Neolithic - would be an unsafe home for everyone in it - *especially* infants & small children. So, the slightly anal types who just didn't feel right unless their cave was neat and clean would be less likely to have diseases or mice or whatever, thereby being (on the whole) healthier, stronger, and more well-fed (since mice wouldn't be eating all their food).
The slobs would have a higher chance of dealing with disease and pests, which would make them and their children (on the whole) less healthy and well-fed. Guess who's gonna win that race.
So I don't feel bad about my slightly "obsessive" need to have a clean house. I'm carrying on a very important lesson passed down through thousands of generations of women - keep your house clean and your family healthy.

Grad School?

So I've been thinking about going to Grad School. Since I want to write, I thought the Creative Writing program might be the thing to do. Though a friend of mine says that the program is very narrow and the professors are hyper-critical, I thought just *having* to write every day would be good for me.
But of course there are practical considerations. If I went to grad school, I would have to quit my extremely cushy job. I would *have* to get a graduate assistantship, which pays my tuition and pays me a modest stipend (I'd be taking a pay cut of about $400 a month). Which won't be a big deal, if my hubby can get a full-time job. So, the decision isn't an easy one.
And here is where it gets interesting...I was at the Journalism department getting my summer classes in order, when they offered me a graduate assistantship. I didn't even ask - they offered it to me, specifically. I would be working for a friend and former professor. She told me the job was mine, all I had to do was accept. Wow. Talk about having a solution fall into your lap...
But do I really want to get my Master's in Journalism? I don't see how it would hinder my desire to write for a living. It might be more practical, since with my Master's, I could teach - I'd be in acedemia, and still able to write.
It's almost too perfect. My pessimistic side wants to find fault with it. But really, a lot more fault could be found in going for Creative Writing than Journalism.
I feel like I've stepped into a fast-flowing river, where the current is just pushing me along. I have no idea where I'm going, but in a way I'm not sure that's important. Perhaps in trusting the Universe to carry me, I will be where I'm supposed to be, and maybe the destination isn't as important as the journey.