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.

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.

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.

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.

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.