When Life Hands You Lemons, Try the Psychic Friends...

Hi friends! Happy Sunday. In this scene, my good friend Diva visits me in Florida and we run off to a psychic community called Cassadaga to find out what the future holds. Since my finances, career, and love life were in the toilet at the time, I figured any good news would be welcome then!

***

Diva visited again for Spring Break, and her appearance was most welcomed.  She whisked me off to Cassadaga, which is a community of psychics, mediums and spiritualists near Orlando.

Cassadaga was a very soothing place. The energy there was calm and palpable. The streets are lined with oak trees fringed in Spanish moss.  The houses there were built many decades ago, and several have big, shady porches.  It is like a trip back in time to visit Cassadaga.

When I got out of the car and walked up and down a few streets, I felt lighter than I had in a long time. I had a buzzing in my head that made me feel light inside. I don’t remember what Diva and I discussed. We were just happy to be somewhere new, where the people we’d run into were bound to be cool. And, they were.

We happened upon a guy named Psychic Bob sitting on a bench outside a New Age shop. He was a tall, overweight man in a navy blue t-shirt and khakis (not exactly mystical apparel), but we loved him the minute he opened his mouth.

Diva chatted him up first, as usual. She said, “Hi there! What do you do?”

“I do readings with tarot cards,” he answered. “What are you two looking for today?”

“Oh, whatever strikes us,” she answered. “We just had our auras photographed- wanna see?”

“Of course!” he answered. I liked him already; I thought it was fun to see a grown man get giddy about colors.

“Hey, I’m Jane,” I said to him.

“Hi Jane, I’m Psychic Bob,” he answered.

“And this is my friend, Diva.”

“Diva! Well, let’s see the auras for these fancy ladies.”

Diva showed her aura photograph to him first.

“Orange, orange, orange,” he said. “You must be very creative, Diva.”

She nodded. Regardless of the day jobs she’s held, Diva’s always been an artist, so his assessment was spot-on.

“And you, Jane.” He paused for a beat to take in the red, yellow, and green. “Yours looks like Mardi Gras!”

We laughed.

“That’s what I said!” Diva added.

“Red corresponds to family and community; orange can be creativity and can also be survival and sex. The yellow in there deals with self-esteem, and the green is all about the love,” he told us.

All were issues going on with me. All were things I wanted to feel or have or secure. After exchanging glances, we decided to get tarot readings from Psychic Bob. I went first.

Psychic Bob had a private room that was used for readings, just beyond the sidewalk where he sat and met passers-by throughout the day. It was painted turquoise and had a table and two chairs. The table was covered with a turquoise and gold cloth, while the chairs were simply gray folding chairs.  A tall, narrow window let in sunlight through a translucent yellow curtain.

I sat down on the gray folding chair across from him and tried to be nonchalant. I didn’t want to show that my life was unraveling to a psychic; that would make his job way too easy.

So I said this: “I want to know about where my life is headed.”

Psychic Bob whispered a blessing over his tarot cards while he held them in his clasped hands. Then, he handed the cards to me, and I shuffled them three times, cut the deck, and handed the two piles back to him. He placed one pile on top of the other and started laying cards down on the table between us.

I looked at the seven cards. One was labeled “The Devil” and showed a man and a woman in shackles. Another showed a man lying face-down in the dirt with 10 swords in his back. A third, called “The Tower,” had people jumping out of a flaming building. The other cards had symbols that I didn’t understand.

Psychic Bob took a breath and started the reading with a question.

“Are you working now?” he asked

“Yes,” I answered, trying to force some enthusiasm about it. He looked puzzled; his forehead wrinkled up in reply.

He hesitated, and then he asked: “Why does your workplace remind me of The Devil Wears Prada?”

My eyes bugged out and I laughed. He took the burden of my life, the struggle I felt every day, the weight of this horrible work environment, and turned it into a pop culture reference that mentioned Simon Baker. What a great way to spend a day off, I mused. At least he’s making me think about Simon Baker.

“Psychic Bob, it’s horrible,” I said. “I don’t know what to do. I’m new to this town, and I feel stuck where I’m working but don’t know where else to go. I haven’t found any decent job leads. I meet people who seem to want to see me fail. Nobody there wants to know me or be my friend. It’s awful.”

“I know you are feeling stressed, but you have to take charge of this situation. Look at this card,” he said, pointing to the Tower card, with lightening striking the tower, bricks falling down, and people falling to their deaths.  “You can’t wait until the walls are falling down around you to get out!”

“But what if I can’t find anywhere else to go?” I asked him.

“Keep looking,” he said. “It’s always the last place you look, anyway. You have to find a more secure place to work. That’s the only way you can improve your situation.”

He moved on to the awkward subject of my love life and looked puzzled again after he laid down seven more cards.

“This card,” he said, pointing at the six of cups, “talks about happy memories, things that have passed. But, it can also mean future opportunities and good times.  It’s up to you. I don’t think your best days are behind you at all.  We just need to make sure you don’t think that, either. As far as finding someone, you will have the opportunity to meet someone who lives a distance from where you are now.”

“Thank goodness,” I muttered under my breath.

“That you might meet someone? Or that he’s far away?” he asked.

“Both,” I answered. 

My search for a roommate was fraught with peril...

Hi everyone. Jane here again. Happy Hump Day! I've included part of the story of when I tried to find a roommate in Winterville. Buckle your seat belts, because it's a wild ride! 

-J

I needed to find a roommate, too. I wasn’t sure what the future held, but the idea of having someone there to split the bills was a tempting one. My goal was to find some professional, neat, normal-enough person to share my space. Just like in a big or mid-sized city where professional people live and work, surely in all of Winterville I could find someone to rent my extra room, I thought. 

First, I put an ad on a website that catered to people looking for places to live, and people advertising places to live.  Then, the emails started rolling in.

“Diva, I have never seen anything like this,” I told her as we chatted on the phone.  Her move to California was complete, and we were three time zones apart. Usually we’d talk in the evenings when she was done with school for the day and I was getting ready for bed.

“Have you found any takers yet?” she asked.

“There were a few students who wanted to do chores in exchange for free rent.”

“What?” she asked. “Man, if that scam worked, our college years would have been so much easier!”

“Yeah, I’ve never heard of such a thing. And then there was this woman who said she was willing to house-sit for me.”

“But you live there.”

“Right, I know. So I explained that to her and she said she’d still be willing to do it, and that she wouldn’t even charge me.”

“For letting you live there for free?”

“Yeah, apparently.”

“And that doesn’t even cover the old guys, Diva. These old men write to me.”

“You advertised for a female roommate, didn’t you? In the ad, I mean.”

“Apparently that means nothing to them. I guess they want to wear me down so I’ll allow it. They seem to all be working together.”

“Seriously, Jane. Why go through the trouble of going out to bars and hitting on women half your age when you can talk one into letting you live in her house? Look for one desperate enough and the plan just might work!”

“I know, right. Did I ever tell you about The Professor?” I asked. “Oh, you are going to laugh!”

“What? I don’t think you did.”

“This one guy included a picture with his reply.  He was flexing his biceps. I kid you not. Wearing a muscle shirt. Big white handlebar mustache. Must have been 60 years old!”

“Ewwww,” Diva said. “Well, I mean, unless you like that sort of attention. What did you write back to him? ‘Where have you been all my life, you raging bull of a studmuffin?’ Because that would set the tone for a great flirtation.”

Meeting the Yokels... I mean, Locals...

Hi friends! Thanks for tuning in. It's Jane here. This scene below is from when I joined a "young professionals group" through the Winterville Chamber of Commerce. I was in a bit of a pickle: new to town, single and in my mid-30s, and not having the greatest of career success at this juncture. I'd bought a house but the value of it was falling quickly, and I couldn't afford to sell it and start over somewhere; in fact, I needed to find a sane, employed person to be my roommate and help me afford it! Most of all, I wanted to see if I could feel "at home" in this town and make the best of my circumstances.

   Maybe if I had a better job, I would feel better here, I thought, and maybe I can meet some people who can help me find a better job or a roommate.

  I had nothing to lose, so I paid the $100 membership fee and joined the group.

  I walked into my first mixer as a “member” and filled out my nametag. It was held at an upscale apartment complex that had just been built.

  Outside the door to the clubhouse, a woman greeted me and provided me with a nametag to wear. I wondered if I was the first person to arrive, as the room inside was quiet. Back home, I’d attended events where people spilled out of venues onto the sidewalk, which had a much friendlier vibe.

  I glided into a clean, well-lit clubhouse that had overstuffed couches, a pool table, and French doors that overlooked a pool area, complete with beach chairs and tables with umbrellas on the deck. Recessed lights shined down from the ceiling and bounced off several ornate mirrors hung throughout the room.

  I sighed when I surveyed the guests. Groups of people stood around in clumps, talking intimately to one another. Many of the women had fake blonde streaks in their hair.

  Most of them wore mall clothes: khakis and polo shirts for the men, and Capri pants and blouses for the women. The women accessorized their outfits with ostentatious jewelry and expensive high-heeled shoes. By contrast, I wore a nice pair of jeans and a black top. I was going for the plain but cute look, since I couldn’t do the preppy look with a straight face unless it was Halloween. My flat shoes came from the Target 2004 collection, and I wasn’t about to apologize for that.

  This quiet, funereal, cliquish gathering was a mixer for Winterville’s young professionals. I couldn’t help but think about other places where those gatherings were festive. A crowd of people would mingle and share job tips, job search ideas, and exchange business cards. Strangers would approach and welcome others into their conversations. At some, we’d had the option of having drinks, too, which allowed for more fun and flirtation, even.

  This gathering looked too daunting for me, and I wanted to leave. How could I get through a drab room like that? I took three deep breaths and tried to calm my heart and sweat glands. I’ll stand here until I get some sort of sign, I decided.

  I spotted two women talking and laughing, and one looked over at me. Her facial expression was somewhat approachable, so I walked up to her to introduce myself.

  “Hi there,” I said. “I’m new to this group. I’m Jane.”

  “I’m Shelley.”

  “Riley,” said the other. She offered me a limp handshake.     

  “So, what do you do?” I asked.

  “I’m the hardest working woman in town,” Shelley boasted as if she were the most accomplished woman on the planet. “I am raising triplets.”

  “Wow, that’s great!” I said. “How old are they?”

  “Four. And I can’t believe I have a few hours away from them!”

  “They are so cute,” added Riley. “All boys.”

  “Well, that must keep you busy.  Riley, how about you?” I asked.

  Riley got a faraway look in her eyes and brushed a stray hair away from her forehead.  This showcased what I imagined was a 2-carat diamond engagement ring.

  “Well, I’m sort of between jobs now,” she said, and she and Shelley giggled like they had some sort of inside joke.

  I knew that tone. It was the “I’m too good to work” tone. It was the “I don’t work, I shop” tone.

  “But I’m really busy planning my wedding,” she added, motioning to a tall, dorky guy across the room and beaming.

  “Congratulations,” I said. “So, I joined this group so I could network to look for a better job. Do either of you know any place that’s hiring?”

  Riley scoffed, while Shelley gave me a quizzical look.

  “I have no idea,” Shelley said.

  “OK, well, do you know anyone else here who might know?”

  They both laughed again.

  “Oh, we know all these people! We’ve been members for years,” Riley told me. “Most of us went to Winterville High School together.”

  “Oh wow, that’s different,” I said. “All of you still here, still in touch.”

  “Is it?” Shelley asked as she tossed her hair.

  “There are people who put their families and their friends first, and there are people who don’t,” Riley said, looking at me with her arms crossed. Wow, I am a demonic career woman compared to these two. How dare I move from place to place to gain work experience and have a career? “I’m sorry,” she said when the conversation stopped, but I knew she wasn’t.

  “So are you dating anyone, Jane?” Shelley asked. “Or are you married?”

  Are those the only two options? I wondered.

  “No, actually. I went through a breakup last year and then moved here for a job, but it’s been slow going meeting people.”

  “Yeah, that’s hard,” Riley said with a sneer, and then faded off again.

  I decided to make a graceful escape.

  “Well, it was nice to meet you both,” I said. I had assumed, from the awkward pause that followed, that even though they knew everyone in the room, they weren’t going to introduce me to anyone.

Attempting conversation with a Winterville local, take one

Hi friends:
In this scene, I am stymied by my inability to have what I consider a "regular" conversation with a Winterville person. Let me know what you think!
-Jane

Diva visited at the holidays for a few days before jetting off to see her family. This was awesome for us, as we could spend time shopping, lounging at the pool, and doing all the stuff people can do in Winterville (such as eating while listening to the din of laughter from the red hat ladies at Mimi’s Cafe).

We went a local bar one night and I happened to run into someone with whom I thought I was decently acquainted through volunteer work. We had never socialized, but I thought we had a decent rapport.

I spotted her and waved. She smiled back, so I walked up to her. She and a group of her friends sat around a large, rectangular table on the patio of the bar.  Upright heaters and neon signs lit the area. Our conversation went like this:

"Hey, (name), how are you doing?"

"Great! How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing pretty well," I answered.

There was an awkward pause while she didn't introduce me to the man she was with, whom I could only assume was her longtime squeeze. I tried to pick up the conversation.

"Are you still at (place of employment)?"

"Yep, going good."

"Great! What's new?"

"Oh, I'm headed out to a vacation at (fabulous location)."      

"Wow, that sounds great. I went there once and it was awesome."

And then there was another pause. Do they teach how to avoid conversations with non-locals after they finish teaching Creationism in Winterville schools? I wondered. Am I crazy? Are people everywhere incapable of conversation, or is it just places like Winterville?

"So, do you still see (people we know in common)?" I asked, hoping to start a new thread of conversation.

"Yeah, they're around."

"OK, well, tell them hi from me."

"OK, I will."

There was another pause. I was tired at this point. I saw Diva returning from the ladies room and decided there was no need to introduce her to this woman.

"Well, it was great seeing you. Have a good night!" Then, I headed off to a spot we’d staked out at the bar, where I met Diva and a few people who were home for the holidays from other cities and states.

One guy at the bar told Diva about his scuba diving exploits. I listened and smiled at his stories while Diva asked questions and more questions. The evening ended late and happily, and the weekend ended too soon on Monday morning, when I took her to pick up her rental car and then headed off to work. 

Synopsis and first scene... Enjoy!

Friends:

As you may know, some dear person is writing about my time in the backwoods of Florida during the Great Recession. Having recently received some advice from a published author who's climbing the Amazon charts as we speak, this dear person realized that she needs to share some of my story with potential readers to figure out what works and what doesn't. And so, without further ado, here is the summary.

I, Jane Q. Phoenix, bought a townhouse in Florida in 2007 that, over the course of the following 5 years, lost half of its value. I also had a *bit of trouble* making friends, working, making ends meet, and dating during that time. However, through it all, I had the support of my good friend Diva and a few others I met along the way. So, it's a book about friendship and dealing with whatever life throws at you... like Sex and the City, but without sex and without a city. I wonder if I should call it No Sex in the Country but then have to wonder why anyone would buy a book with a title that starts with No Sex. It is a quandary.

Without further ado, here is the first scene I will share with you. It's at a point when I am trying to meet people in my new adopted town, Winterville:

The flurry of moving to town and closing on my townhouse kept me busy, but as more things were unpacked, I realized how much time I was spending alone.

Diva had worked for a company that had an office in Winterville and vaguely knew of a few fun people there that I should meet, so she offered to introduce us on Facebook. I jumped at the chance, as I had chosen not to socialize with coworkers outside of work and had not had luck meeting people otherwise. Meetup.com events, which were few and far between, were usually cancelled or took place when I was busy working. Without anyone to introduce me to people in Winterville, I wasn’t sure how long it would be until I could find stuff to do in town.

This guy Jason knows everybody. He can introduce you around. I’ll message you both on Facebook, Diva wrote.

I answered: Thanks, honey, you are a pal. I don’t think it’s going to be easy to meet people around here. This is really helpful!

The next morning, I saw her email to Jason and me:

Hi Jane and Jason! Jason, Jane is new to town and doesn’t have any friends there yet. I wanted to introduce you to each other. Be sure to include her in Happy Hour!

-Diva (Lexi)

His reply to both of us was totally above-board and seemed fine:

Hi ladies. Welcome to town, Jane.

Then he sent me separate message:

Can you meet up at Bennigans? I’m going there after work for a drink.

I wrote back: OK, I get off work at 5 nearby. See you shortly after then.

I hoped this could be a person who would enable me to socialize locally, but I did worry; after all, Diva had never met him in person, and I didn’t know what to expect. Still, he seemed to be approachable in that already-taken-by-another-woman sort of way. He was separated from his wife and dating someone new; this was something I’d confirmed either with Diva or on Facebook. He also had a daughter.

After work, I drove across the main highway of town and parked at Bennigan’s. Upon entering the dark entryway, I saw the familiar brass handrails and the dark wooden steps up to the bar.  After being greeted by a pimply hostess, I looked around the restaurant.

Only a few customers were belly-up to the bar at 5:10 p.m. I looked for a tallish, brown-haired man that matched Jason’s profile picture and found one watching the door intently. He looked right through me, really.

“Jason?” I asked as I approached him. He looked at me, startled. There was one empty beer glass in front of him and a full glass beside it.

“Lexi?” he asked. “I mean, Jane?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said. “Hey. It’s nice to meet you.” I sat down on the barstool next to him.

“Don’t you have long hair?” he asked, perplexed.

This was interesting: my only picture on Facebook featured me with Diva at a rip-roaring St. Patrick’s Day celebration in a bar in a faraway city.  I wore a basic outfit with my usual flat hair and slightly buzzed expression. Diva, however, was in a dramatic pose and sexy dress, showing off her curves and sporting a green feather boa. Diva’s hair was long in that picture; mine was not. I guess he didn’t recognize her, since her hair hadn’t been that long for a few years, and they knew each other by phone and email, never in person, through work.

“Ah, my hair changes all the time. I am a woman of many looks. But I think you thought I was Diva.”

He looked disappointed, but then shrugged and said, “Well, I never met her in person, so there you go.  So, you are Lexi’s friend. She left to go back to school, right?” he asked.

“Yes, she’s in the process now. I’m happy for her.”

“How did she get the name Diva?”

“Her name is Alexandra Bellini. Doesn’t that sound like an opera singer’s name? And besides, she has a flair for the dramatic. Diva’s her nickname from college.”

“That’s cool.  So, what brings you to this lovely burg?” he asked.

“A new job.  I’m a technical writer, and work for an engineering firm.  What do you do?”

“I work in finance.  Our company is based in Miami but has offices everywhere. That’s how I met your friend. Over the phone, at least.”

“Cool.  What do you go out and do around here? I’m trying to get my bearings.  I’ve seen a few things going on but wanted to ask you about them. What about the Improv? Have you ever checked it out?”

“I don’t know much about the Improv, but I do know that there are a lot of good restaurants around here. They could make for some good nights out,” he purred. His glance lingered on my boobs.

Oh, Jesus, I thought. Not this. First of all, trying to make eye contact with my boobs wasn’t going to earn him any points. Secondly, since I was single, I didn’t want to hear about any “outings” that would require a date. I didn’t have anyone to date, and I most definitely wasn’t looking to date a man with a girlfriend and an estranged wife.

“So Jane, what do you do for fun?” he added in an overly friendly tone.

Was he serious? Did people use that line anymore? I wondered how I should respond. I get naked and swing from the chandeliers? I enjoy pottery, hiking, and outdoorsy pursuits? I like sunshine, puppies, and long walks on the beach?

One would think with 3 women/ girls in his life, that he wouldn’t have time to try to add to the collection. Well, maybe that’s just what I’d think. I have to wear bangs to conceal the tattoo that reads GULLIBLE on my forehead.

“For now I leave town, Jason! I don’t know how to answer that question.” I crossed my arms in the attempt to camouflage my chest.

“OK, well, what do you like to cook?” He was either very sexist or grasping at straws to come up with a conversational topic.

But seriously, was I auditioning to be Woman #3, or perhaps Alice from The Brady Bunch? I didn’t sign up for this! I figured I’d cut to the chase.

“Food, Jason, I like to cook and eat food. What is up with these questions? You are acting like you’re flirting with me. Don’t you have a girlfriend? Aren’t you separated from your wife?”

Stop. Stammer time.

“Oh, oh, well,” he said, looking flustered, “my girlfriend and I are on the outs.  And my divorce will be happening soon.” He turned and took a long sip from his full beer glass.

“Really? That’s not what Diva told me last night.”

“Oh well, you know, I don’t like to tell people at work my business. It’s not professional,” he continued, staring at the bar in front of us now.

He looked glum.  It wasn’t clear what made him sad: woman problems most likely, or perhaps something on the job. Emptying the first glass of beer by 5:05 p.m. wasn’t a good sign.

“OK, well, I need to go. I have a meeting that starts in a few minutes. Thanks for the invitation to meet here.”

“You’re going out right now? I thought you didn’t know anybody in town.”

“Yep, it’s dinner time. I gotta go,” I responded. I didn’t want to come across as bitchy, but I also wanted to get away.

“All right, well... it was great talking with you, Jane,” he said, trying one more time to sound endearing. He extended his hand and I shook it. His hand was wet and sticky from beer.

“Thanks, Jason. Bye.”

“Take care of yourself,” he answered back.

What a confusing encounter, I thought. He was creepy one minute, sad the next. It was impossible to know what was going on with him, and it didn’t seem like it was my job to find out.

As for my appointment, I had a meeting with a miniature pizza, hot from the toaster oven, just a few minutes after I got home. I called Diva after dinner.

“So, Toots, what do you like to do for fun?” I asked her.

Introducing my story- over 57,000 words!!!!

Friends, over the past few months, I've had a chance to really concentrate on my writing for the first time in forever. Diva and I have talked extensively about how to get it all together and incorporate all of her witty asides, because she's read through various incarnations over the past few years and sprinkled in her spicy comments throughout.

Yes, I left my job and moved across the country to be with the man I love. There was no ticker-tape parade waiting for me when I got here, no job offers when the first uncomfortable feeling of, "What is my purpose anymore?" surfaced. Along the way, I've joined a lot of writer's groups and submitted work for critique week after week. I've done some freelance editing and looked for more work along that vein, along with freelance writing gigs. So far, loving to write has turned into an expensive hobby, one that I'll probably subsidize with some temp work soon. Even though I lack the structure that work has always provided, I've had time to work on the book I've wanted to write. It became like a part-time job, taking up my afternoons after my job posting opportunities have been exhausted.

I'm excited to say that right now, the story has over 57,000 words! And I am going to share snippets with you along the way. A few of these vignettes are ready to slip out of the vault and into the world.

Please feel free to share any observations with me about them via email or, if you see something on Facebook that you like, click the Share button so more people can read about my ridiculous life.

Sincerely yours,
Jane Q. Phoenix

Moody, anyone? If so, spill. I hope it isn't just me.

Wow. The last few days have been up and down. I'm not sure if it's tied in to the weather: cold, damp, dreary, and killing my instinct to exercise (or do anything but mope and nap).

I generally have to take a step back when I start to wonder what I'm doing with my life. Either I have no time to pursue what I like because I am working so much or I have no job and get to fixate on that, creativity be damned. The last few months have been chock-full of changes, and my career isn't moving ahead too quickly now, although I hope it will soon. I would like to be self-employed. We will see how that goes, as getting started is something that one improvises. (I am finding this out now.)

The past few years have flattened me like a steamroller. I happen to have a friend who acquired some hang-ups from working for an employer that essentially worked her too hard. I wasn't too affected by that particular employer (we worked for the same company) but then I went to work for a nonprofit and it was like, Zambonis, start your engines. I've never been asked to work so hard at a place that had no opportunity for advancement and no incentive to make more money. My reward for doing a good job was more work and zero flexibility from my employer at a time when I really could have used it.

Being overworked has had this affect on me, and perhaps my friend, of making me suspicious. I look at a new potential workplace and try to imagine how I could fit in to the culture, learn my position, and then wonder if I'd have to constantly assert myself to have a work-life balance.

I've never been one of those people who could rationalize working all of the time. I've always had a body that needed exercise and the need to socialize with friends and family. I think it's important to have boundaries. No one's going to wake me up in the middle of the night or keep me at work 3 hours late with a "writing emergency." Sorry, but such things don't exist, and don't try to tell me otherwise! I don't log in at night to do more work. That's when I eat, exercise, and relax. If that makes me unfit for the modern workplace, then perhaps I should work for myself.

I read somewhere in my horoscope that I'll never work as hard in my whole life as I worked in 2012, and I wouldn't be surprised if that turned out to be true. It's 2014 already and I don't think I could work that hard now. It was such a tough year.

Combining that with my current creative project means that the tears have started to flow. In order to work on my current project, a book about life in the recession in Florida, I have to go back to that state: overworked, with no hope of promotion or raise, tired all the time, dealing with health issues, and upside-down and underwater in a home that I couldn't get rid of yet.  Although I met some nice people there, most were busy with their own marriages or families and I spent a ton of time alone. I also met some people there who were available to hang out, but they tended to be oversolicitous married guys or really strange people. Of course, there was also the parade of hostile townies and the horny old men. I didn't have a choice. It was the long, dark night of the soul.

I suppose everyone goes through that at some point of life.  It seems most of my single friends have gone through it in their thirties; as for the ones who've stayed married and/or had children, I don't know if they are exempt from it or if this is a universal condition that they too will experience. I suppose keeping people around you can keep the long, dark night at bay in most cases, but probably not all the time.

Anyway, friends, even revisiting the bad old days is enough to get me boo-hooing. I hope the sun comes out soon and distracts me from this!

Love,

Jane