Too Much Spare Time

This past month has been “easier.” I got through the five month mark okay (thank you to everyone who got in touch on or before that day to say you were thinking of us). But here’s the problem with “easier.” It only means I’m not crying as much. I don’t miss him any less, or want him back any less. It only means getting used to it. I’m adjusting.

What does “adjustment” look like? Well for one, I am spending too much money. I counted the other day, and I have bought about 25 pairs of shoes in the last couple of months. Then there’s the clothes and all the other crap. It’s not that I can’t afford it – it’s just that it’s unnecessary, and not the best use of money. I don’t need most of the stuff, but it fills time. It keeps me busy, especially on the weekends, which stretch long and empty in front of me. (This is proof of what I never admitted to him – that it was actually CHEAPER to own a boat than not, because once we owned the boat I stopped going shopping so much. I never told him, but I actually did the math, and the boat, gas, and insurance were less than I spent every month before we owned it!)

I also am car shopping, but that is almost done, and once I buy it, I have no idea what I will do with my free time. Sometimes I think I am dragging out the car decision not just because of my analysis paralysis, but because I subconsciously fear what I will do with my Saturdays.

What I am realizing is that I am not just lonely, I am bored, bored, BORED. I think I might even be borING. Me. I never thought I was, but I am starting to wonder. It’s ironic because Kirk used to tell me I was “no fun.” Always when he wanted me to do something beyond my limits, like enter a hotdog eating contest, or get my picture taken with the Naked Cowboy in Times Square, or go to the bathroom over the side of the boat, or moon a trucker. He would suggest some such ridiculous thing, I would say no, and he would tell me he didn’t understand why I never wanted to participate in any of his “good ideas,” and that I was no fun.

I always dismissed this observation, since he never really meant it, and besides, almost anyone would refuse to do all of those things (I think…). But now that I live without him, I realize that he was the source of everything entertaining that happened. I was the Robin, the Tonto, the perpetual sidekick. I made him better, but on my own I am pretty ordinary, and not too interesting to be around.

I have no hobbies either. I used to like going to the movies, and never minded going alone, but now going alone seems actually lonely. I used to decorate the house, but it’s all done. I used to go boating, but you know the status of that. I am learning to cook, but still don’t like it, and I do work out now, but that’s a chore too. (do you see a theme emerging? BORING…)

Additionally, I stink at making friends. I have never really had to – he was my most important friend, and almost all our other friends came via him. It is especially tough for me because I naturally gravitate much more toward men than women. I have always been more comfortable with men, and that’s been reinforced by usually being primarily with men at work. This all was fine until I became a widow in a strange city. Now I have to figure out how to make friends, and realistically, they can’t really be men. I can’t very well call up some guy I get along well with at work and ask him if he wants to go to a movie or dinner – they are all married and somehow I don’t think their wives would appreciate it. That leaves me with women and couples. I do have two couples I do things with sometimes, and I don’t feel like a fifth wheel with them, but in the end, they are really just occasional social friends.

That leaves me with women. I don’t know what to do with them. Don’t they really just want to be with their husbands, the way I did? How would they have room for me? And why would they want to be MY friend? I have never really had much confidence that anyone actually likes me. I don’t know why – you all really seem to. But somehow the thought of trying someone new – putting myself out there – is scary. Making a friend is kind of like dating I guess – you have to take a risk if you want a chance at something. But then again, you might just get rejected and end up with nothing.

So here I sit – bored, lonely, and to top it all off, whining about being bored and lonely :). That ought to attract new friends by the droves.