More Ups and Downs

My mood is changing constantly these days. Some mornings I wake up and dread going to my new job. Other times I feel full of self-confidence. Monday and Tuesday were nerve-wracking. Wednesday I really found my groove, and that good vibe continued through most of Thursday. But then the final customer on Thursday night was a colossal jerk, and blew my confidence. The first customer Friday morning was also an asshole.

But later in the day, a customer called my manager to compliment my customer service. So that was a nice boost right when I needed it. But it's not just customers affecting my mood. It's all sorts of little things, and sometimes nothing at all.

I've been watching a lot of reaction videos lately, because it's hard to commit to watching something I've never seen before. My attention span's just as unpredictable as my mood, and I'm afraid that I'll lose interest halfway through a new movie. Anyway, I was watching a YouTuber watch one of my favorite romantic comedies when I suddenly started bawling.

The movie had a "found family" theme, and it hit me hard that I don't have any family nearby. This isn't a new trigger; it's hit me a couple of times before. Not as often as "my wife is gone" and the "I have no friends up here" moods, but it's still in my top 5 triggers.

I love this house and I don't plan to leave it. I'm getting used to my job (though I haven't stopped browsing the job listings), I love this city, and I really don't see myself packing up and moving to Florida just to be closer to family.

After work on Thursday I went to see Fantastic Four. Even though it's hard to watch new movies, I'm finding it's easier if I go to the theater. The lack of other distractions keeps my mind from wandering as much. I enjoyed the movie, but I kept wishing KJ was there. F4 was her favorite super hero team. She loved the 2005 movie, and even liked the sequel. It almost felt like sacrilege to see it without her.

But in the dark theater, I could imagine she was there beside me. It was kind of nice.

It depresses me that she died before the movie came out. She was really looking forward to seeing it. I'd love to have heard her thoughts about it. My favorite part of going to the movies with her was the drive home afterwards, where we discussed what we liked and didn't like about the movie.

Without that, I'm not sure why I even bother seeing new movies. It almost feels like an obligation. Like, I know I'm going to see this eventually, might as well get it out of the way. I mean, I appreciate a good movie. I've seen three this month. But do they make me happy?

I don't know. I'm not sure what "happy" is right now. It feels more like temporary relief than happiness. I mean, if you have a sunburn, does lotion make you happy, or just less sad?

Years ago, when I was suffering through a bout of depression, I wrote a blog where I listed reasons to live. One my reasons was that new Star Wars movies were coming out. I won't go as far as to say Fantastic Four was KJ's Star Wars, but I know she would have wanted to see it before she died.

This morning at the grocery store, a man with a dazed expression stopped me to say, "Hey. Jesus loves you." I keep a lot of snarky comebacks in my head, but I know I'd never use one. This guy looked slightly crazy, but he thought he was doing a good thing, so why would I ever give him grief for that? I think I just replied, "Thanks." Then he went on to say, "He died for you," and I replied something along the lines of, "I know. You have a good day," and shuffled off to the next aisle.

I try not to judge people like that. For one thing, I'm becoming that. Not in the religious sense, but I have been talking to myself a lot lately. Heck, I'm pretty sure I talked out loud the entire time I was shopping. Just things like, "Let's see, where do they keep the... nope, not this aisle..." and so on. It's not like I was having a full-on conversation with an invisible rabbit. But sooner or later, people are going to think I'm the crazy one.

I've already decided I'm going to become one of those old curmudgeons the neighbors gossip about. When I retire, there'll be a bunch of kids on bikes talking about That Crazy Old Guy's house, and how he never comes out of the house except around midnight to look for victims. Kids will dare each other to break into my house, and when one does, he'll discover that I'm just a lonely widower who never recovered from his lost love.

It'll be quite the heartwarming story, right up until I eat him.

Learning Curve

Yesterday was the third month anniversary of my wife's death. I've come along way, healing-wise, but I'm still in a lot of pain. Still, I've got a new job, made some new friends, and life is going on.

I have a love/hate relationship with my job. I love the company. I love the benefits. I love the office. I love the location. I love my coworkers. I love my cubicle.

The job itself? Hmm. It's a lot of phone customer service, and I'm okay with that. The problem is, there's a lot to learn. I tend to learn through repetition, but no two calls are ever the same. Each time someone calls, I have to pull up a different piece of software and go through a different set of steps.

Last week I sat with my trainer and watched him work. This week he sat with me and watched me work. Starting Monday I'll be sitting by myself.

This past week, I had to put customers on hold a lot while I asked my trainer questions. The problem is, half the calls I get are unique. So if a situation didn't come up in the past two weeks, I'll have no idea what to do when I get that kind of call next week. Of course there will be people to ask, but I don't like putting customers on hold for long periods of time while I track down the answer.

So far, while I'm sitting there at my desk, the job doesn't seem so bad. The calls are infrequent - sometimes I go more than fifteen minutes without my phone ringing. Most of the customers have been pleasant so far.

But my stress levels are through the roof at all other times. I have trouble sleeping at night. When I get up in the morning, I feel like I'm going to throw up. My left eyelid's been twitching, and I get frequent heartburn. Every morning I think about calling them and saying, "Sorry, this job isn't for me." Every lunch break I consider driving home and not coming back.

It will get better as I learn more about my job. Every call brings new knowledge, and eventually I won't be nervous at all. I just have to stick it out.

But I'm also having problems learning new things. Maybe it's because I'm in my 50s, or maybe it's because I'm still in mourning, but it's taking a lot longer for new knowledge to sink in. I used to pick things up so quickly, but now it's like my brain is granite, and I'm trying to carve new information in with a chisel made of Nerf.

Twice this week I've been on a phone with a customer, when they said something that somehow brought me back to the 911 call three months ago. When it happened, I completely blanked out and forgot what the customer needed. There've been a few other triggers as well. I don't know if that'll ever go away.

And I'm disgusted with myself, and my first-world problems. I'm so lucky to have found such a perfect job, and I'm complaining because I'm not good at it yet. Everyone there keeps telling me I'm doing fine, and that everybody takes a long time to learn this job. They even have a chat channel where employees who've been there for years still ask for advice on how to help their customers.

But I hate sucking at things. I want a job that I'm instantly good at. I hate asking for help. I find it embarrassing.

I keep telling myself to just give it time. And I will. I promise I won't just quit on a whim. But will I ever feel knowledgeable enough to be comfortable there?

We'll just have to see how it goes.

My Life Part 2: The Sequel

Boy, when it rains, it pours. Well, I wish it would rain. It's been a rainy month around here, actually, but this past week has been nothing but dry, boiling heat. I want that rain back.

But this blog isn't about rain, it's about life's tendency to suddenly go into overdrive. I feel like I've been treading water for the past month. But suddenly two things are happening at once.

First off, I got a job. It starts Monday. I'm not 100% sure it's something I want to do, but it's a lot better than some of the other jobs I applied for, and there's only so many choices around here. It looks like a good company, it has great benefits, and I don't have to do any heavy lifting.

Also, I might be getting a D&D group together. A few weeks ago I posted on a message board that I wanted to start a group, but I didn't get any bites. But today, five people suddenly responded. So we're meeting this Sunday to iron out the details.

Naturally, I'm nervous about the job. It's customer service, over the phone. It doesn't look too complicated. I'm not selling anything, I'm just answering questions. But I've barely spoken at all this month, and I know my voice is going to be hoarse by the end of my first day. On the bright side, my first week will only be four days due to the upcoming holiday.

I'm also nervous about meeting new people on Sunday. I've lived here six months and haven't made any friends. Seriously, I don't know anyone. There are no familiar faces, no neighbors I know on sight. Okay, there's one guy, but I only recognize him when he's walking his dog. Without the dog he would just be a face in the crowd. More people should get dogs so I can tell them apart.

My house has been like a prison, and it's my fault. I've always been afraid of people. But it has to be done. I can't just sequester myself from the world.

I really hope I can learn this job quickly. I really hope I hit it off with my new friends. My life is taking off in a new direction. New city, new job, new friends. I hope it's not too much at once. I hope I can handle the change. I'm going to have to be a stronger person, but I think I'm ready for it.

My brand new life starts now.

Caged Animal

Some days I just don't know what to do with myself. I had job interviews on Monday and Tuesday this week, both of which went very well. One of them really sounds like they're going to hire me once they hear back from my references.

Then I got sick for a couple of days. I think it's the weather. The rising temperatures and random thunderstorms are giving me headaches and allergy attacks.

My sleep schedule is off. I keep waking up with headaches all night, the kind that go away after I drink some water. I've been going through two water bottles a night lately. Which also means getting up for a lot of bathroom trips.

I don't feel I've accomplished enough this week, but I did get some things done that I'd been putting off, like fixing the downstairs toilet. Which reminds me, I keep seeing a weird commercial on YouTube about a procrastination drug, and the haunting jingle keeps getting stuck in my head. But I don't need drugs, I just need a job so I can go back to having a more rigid schedule.

Today I feel really good, but I don't know what I want to do about it. I thought about seeing a movie, but there's nothing I want to see. There's three must-see movies coming out in July (when I'll probably have a job limiting my schedule), but none of the movies currently playing are enough to tempt my wallet.

I should mow the lawn today, but I missed the window. I didn't even think about it until it was already too hot. Now I'll have to wait for sunset or try again tomorrow morning.

There's an anime convention this weekend in Owensboro, which is about 40 minutes from here. I like anime, but I wouldn't say I'm into anime. I've barely watched any of it since Voltron as a kid. There's also going to be video games and tabletop RPGs, though, so I'm tempted.

It's hard to get motivated when your life seems empty, but I've been trying to stick to the following rules: 

1. Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly.

I can't take credit for this one, it's a meme that's been going around Facebook. Basically, for some depressed people, the idea of doing certain activities can be so ponderous that they put it off indefinitely. But if they allow themselves to do a poor job, it at least becomes do-able, which is better than not doing it at all.

2. Accomplish something every day.

Some days I give myself a to-do list, but even looking at the list feels so daunting I just want to hide under the covers. But if I tell myself I only have to do this one thing, I often find the energy for five or six things. Other times it's 9 PM and I find I still haven't accomplished anything, so I stop what I'm doing and make myself do a chore before I get too tired.

3. If you can't think of anything you want to do, do something you don't want to do.

This one has motivated me the most. Sometimes, like today, I find myself wandering around the house looking for something to do. Do I want to watch TV? No, I'm not in the mood. Do I want to play video games? No, I don't see that making me happy right now. Do I want to go out? No, I can't think of anything I'd find interesting.

If nothing sounds fun, then that's the perfect time to do a chore. I mean, you're not going to have fun anyway, right? So might as well accomplish something instead of staring at the walls. I've gotten so much done simply because nothing is giving me much joy right now.

That was more depressing than I wanted to sound. Oh well, things will get better. On Monday I meet with my lawyer to finalize some probate things, so that should give me some closure. And I expect I'll have a job by the end of the month, so that will improve my life as well.

Anyway, that's it for now. I'm off to do... something. Wish me luck.

Happy Pride

Happy Pride, I guess. I'm getting more involved this year. I've entered my books in two giveaways and a book bundle. I attended a Pride festival last weekend, and will be going to another one this weekend. The local libraries are hosting LGBT movie nights, and I plan to attend as many of them as possible.

But the world is really depressing right now. I've been tuning out the news, since I'm already in mourning, but some stories are too big to ignore.

Jonathan Joss, the actor who voiced John Redcorn on King of the Hill, was killed in a hate crime. According to his husband, he was shot by a neighbor who had been shouting homophobic slurs.

Meanwhile, the government is trying to make porn illegal, while simultaneously trying to reclassify anything pro-transgender as porn. Which means all my books could conceivably be declared illegal. Will this pass? Who knows. I'd like to think Amazon, being a huge powerful company, would fight back. After all, they'd lose revenue too if that many books had to be delisted at once.

So when I keep saying, "get them while they're still legal," this is what I mean. If you want to support my work, links to my books are here:

https://books2read.com/ap/8N19Lr/Xine-Fury

The above links will take you to the Kindle store, as well as Smashwords, Nook, and several other e-book retailers. If you prefer a physical copy, you can order them from IngramSpark using these links:

https://xinefury-bloodhunters.blogspot.com/2025/05/paperbacks-by-xine-fury.html

Note, even though the paperbacks are more expensive, I don't personally get more more money from them, so don't let that be a factor in which books you buy, if any.

Dream: Job Hunting

Last night I dreamed I was filling out an online application for a job. The form asked a lot of odd questions you wouldn't normally see on an an application, such as, "Have you ever ridden a giraffe?" But some of the questions were instructions, like a scavenger hunt. For example, at one point it asked me to drive to the grocery store and buy a gallon of milk, then come back home and go to the next question.

I got the job, which involved explaining to ghosts that they were dead. They gave me a deck of cards with words like YES and NO as well as a bunch of common nouns and verbs. I would spread the cards out on the table and the ghosts would point to them, since they couldn't talk. My first ghost client looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. He'd died a few days earlier, but had been wandering around the house and going about his normal routine, unaware he'd died.

I know that social services aspect sounds a lot like Beetlejuice, but the vibe was more bureaucratic, like Dead Like Me. There was nothing Tim Burtony about the dream. I sat down with Arnold and started talking to him, unsure exactly how to break it to him. Then I started choking on a piece of gum and woke up.

Anyway, I'm probably just nervous because I have a job interview Monday morning. Wish me luck.

Aimless

I remembered to pick up cat food this morning. Then I spent about an hour on lawn care. I showered, did laundry, and worked a little more on decorating the house. I didn't put in a full day's work, but at least I didn't waste the day.

In some ways, I now have the life I've dreamed of for years. I have less debt than I've had in thirty years. I have a big house full of cool toys. I'm a (self) published author, with eight books on the kindle store, and who cares if they sell. Younger me would be looking at older me in awe.

So why am I wandering aimlessly around the house, not sure what I want to do next, unable to focus on anything, and occasionally breaking down in tears?

That's a rhetorical question, of course. We both know why. The real question is, "Why did I finally get the life I wanted, only for fate to betray me?" I mean, this is some Twilight Zone bullshit.

She did not deserve to die. I'm no fool; I know fate is unkind. As much as we love to believe in karma, the truth is that this is an unfair world. It rains on the just and the unjust. You can deluge me with feel-good stories of fate rewarding good behavior, or jerks getting what they deserve, but that's just cherry-picking data. Most of the time, fate is random.

Supposedly, the seven stages of grief are: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, testing, and acceptance. I could not tell you which I'm in right now, and I've randomly experienced at least three of them every day this month. Every day it's a different grief sampler.

But most of the time I just feel numb. I don't have the emotional energy to write, and video games don't bring me the joy they used to. I still spend a lot of time watching YouTube, more staring at it than actually watching. KJ might have passed away, but it feels like I'm the one haunting the house.

Same Planet, Different Worlds

My gaming room is really coming along nicely. I can't wait to show it off to... someone. I still don't know a single person in this town. I'm not even sure how to meet them. I suppose I'll start meeting people once I get a gaming group together. Which I'll do once I get a job, so I'll know what my days off will be.

I'm finally starting to get enthusiastic about the job search again. I still don't want help finding a job. What some people consider "help" is a lot more like pressure. But I'm finally reaching the point where I crave some manner of routine, so I have less time to wallow in self-pity.

I ran a lot of errands today. Post office, donation center, used media store, restaurant, gas, etc. The cats are mad at me because I forgot to pick up cat food, but I'll do that first thing in the morning.

I also moved some furniture up and down the stairs. I very nearly injured myself, but those are the risks of living alone. I still have a lot more I want to do, but there are some things that have to wait for a second human. And there are some things I just can't bring myself to do yet.

Every once in a while it hits me that KJ doesn't exist anymore. I mean, that specter is always hanging overhead, but now and then the fact just pops up, like some absurd bit of trivia. It sounds ridiculous on the face of it. I'd sooner believe that the moon had exploded. A world without KJ? That doesn't even make sense. How can you have a world without KJ?

There are still some things around the house I'm reluctant to change, "in case she comes back." No, I can't give away the teddy bears, she'll want them someday. No, I can't move the furniture around, she wouldn't like that configuration. On some level I've convinced myself that this is a temporary situation.

I truly don't know how to live for myself.

I keep thinking about KJ's stepfather, who I will refer to as "DM." And I will refer to KJ's mother as "SM." KJ and DM had a falling out a few years ago, right after SM died. DM cheated on SM, and SM's dying wish was, "Don't let him give my favorite jewelry to his mistress." So a few weeks after SM's death, KJ asked DM if she could come by and look for a specific piece of jewelry.

DM went ballistic. He told KJ that she couldn't have any jewelry, and that she wasn't welcome to stop by anymore unless she was invited. KJ retaliated by calling him out publicly on Facebook, exposing that he'd cheated on SM. DM denied it (note, he actually has a son with the other woman), and most of KJ's family sided with DM.

DM counter-accused KJ of not visiting SM in the hospital. Which, first of all, is a lie. I know she went at least twice, because I had to sit in the car each time (Covid protocols only allowed one visitor). She did cancel her final visit because the nurses told her not to bother, that SM was too far gone to know anyone was there. And KJ couldn't emotionally handle seeing SM in that state. So DM told everyone that KJ didn't love her mother.

Anyway, in all the time I've known DM, he never appeared to like SM. I never saw them act friendly with each other, I never saw any sort of chemistry between them, and it always looked more like a business relationship than anything. They went through the motions because "that's the way it's done."

A note about SM. She was an amazing woman. Smart and energetic. When I first met KJ, SM had been diagnosed with six months to live. We always joked that she was too stubborn to die. She had persistent health problems for the next twenty-something years, and finally died during Covid (but not of Covid). But I never saw her lose a bit of energy.

So from my point of view, when SM died, DM finally got what he'd always wanted. He no longer had this strong-willed woman holding him back, fighting with him, telling him what he could and couldn't do. He no longer had to take this woman to the hospital, forcing him to pay large medical bills. He now has the freedom to date who he wants, and he can spend all his free time working on cars and flying remote control airplanes.

I just keep seeing parallels. We both had been forced into a caregiver position, for a spouse who was in failing health. Now we both live alone in houses too big for a single person. We're even both unemployed right now (since he's retired), so we have plenty of time to be alone with our thoughts, to reflect on our memories of our respective spouses.

But it's also so, so different. I mean, I could be 100% wrong here. DM was a difficult man to get to know, so maybe I've misjudged him. I've disliked him for a very long time. When I first met KJ, she told me DM was acting creepy towards her, and she suspected him of looking at her in a sexual way. One of the reasons we first moved in together was to get her out of that house.

So even if I give DM the most charitable benefit of the doubt in history, he's still a disgusting human being. I simply can't imagine that he mourned SM the same way I'm mourning KJ. I just don't see it in him.

I could be totally wrong about him. KJ might have been totally wrong about him. I'm just glad I'll never have to see him again.

Another Week Gone

The cliche is, "How can I do this without her?"

The reality is, "Without her, why am I doing this at all?"

For the past 18 years, whenever I was super stressed, I found quietly myself chanting, "I want to go home." I'd say this despite being inside my house. Because I knew, despite being a homeowner, that the cramped house I lived in wasn't really "home."

But once I moved here in January, I retired that particular mantra. I finally lived somewhere that felt like home. There were stresses, sure, but at no point did I find myself thinking, "I want to go home." I was where I belonged.

It's been five weeks since my wife passed away. My mom stayed up here for a month, and she was a great help. But I feel like having her here was keeping me from fully facing my grief. I was a little too comfortable with her sitting in KJ's old chair, making beads in the same place that KJ spent all her time crocheting. If I didn't look up from my laptop, it felt like KJ was still in the room.

The past week has been an emotional rollercoaster. I've had two job interviews, and I've spent a ton of time going up and down my stairs, setting up a gaming room in the basement. I've gotten more exercise in five days than I got the entire time mom was here, and that includes the day we went to the zoo.

But I've also crashed more. With higher highs come lower lows. I've spent hours watching absolute crap on YouTube, giving my eyes some candy so I wouldn't just find myself staring at a blank TV screen. I talk out loud a lot. To the cats, to myself, and to KJ.

I ate a 10-count box of Twinkies in three days. Here, let's go on a Twinkie tangent. I bought the Twinkies on a whim while browsing the grocery store. I'd been tempted for years. It's one of those things I try every decade or so. People are like, "They're not as good as you remember," and they're not wrong. That could be the product's slogan, really. "Twinkies. They're Not As Good As You Remember."

KJ and I used to eat pound cake and Cool Whip as desert back in the old days. What are Twinkies, if not pound cake and whipped cream in a convenient, hot-dog-esque form? I mean, sure, it's not really pound cake, but overly-processed sponge cake, but it's not that different. And the filling isn't whipped cream so much as... well, it's probably not wise to question the secret formula.

But it's the kind of thing that comes around again. When you're a kid and you eat a Twinkie, you think, "Mmm... creamy filling!" Then you try them again in your twenties or thirties, and you think, "There's hardly any creamy filling, did I really like this?" Then you try them again in your fifties, and you're like, "Mmm... pound cake!"

But that particular itch has been scratched. I'll try Twinkies again when I'm in my sixties. Twinkie tangent terminated.

I've been eating healthy food, too. Some of my former coworkers from Nashville sent me condolence cards with small presents (gift cards and some windchimes). A couple of them got together and sent me a bunch of frozen dinners from one of those dinner-by-mail services. They're pretty good, but my stomach doesn't always like them. They have a lot more veggies than meat, and most of them include cruciferous vegetables like broccoli. I don't hate broccoli, but my stomach isn't fond of it.

Still, it's saved me a lot of money, because I'm so depressed I can't seem to talk myself into leaving the house. I've only left twice this week, to go to those job interviews. It's also the only times I've showered. I did manage to talk myself into seeing a movie after the first job interview, so there's that.

Each day I think about getting out and doing something. I give myself a mental carrot-on-a-stick. "If you go to the grocery store, you can have your favorite fast food as a reward. Or you can go to a sit-down restaurant and get a piece of cheesecake. Or maybe you could go get Chinese!" Or whatever I think will motivate me that day.

But I don't. I mean, it's not like I'm too far gone. I did manage to go to the job interviews, and I decorated my basement, which took a lot of energy. But I also keep zoning out, bursting into tears, and talking to thin air. 

And I'm back to thinking, "I want to go home." Because a house isn't just a home when it's finally big enough to fit your stuff. A home is where your love lives, and mine has gone away.

Please don't worry about me. I'm not typing any of this to get sympathy points, I just want to get these thoughts off my chest. I'm not going to hurt myself, and I'm not going to wallow in despair. I fully intend to keep living in this beautiful house, and I will find the motivation to keep up with the housework and the job searches.

Everything takes twice as much energy as it used to. I am bone tired, and not because I took 100 trips up and down the stairs this week. Grief is exhausting. But I will come out on the other side, hopefully as a stronger person.

Alone Again

So, mom flew back last night. I think if I look at my entire life, I've only slept alone in an otherwise empty house maybe five times. By the end of the week, I will have broken my record for number of consecutive days living alone.

I hardly slept at all last night. I have a job interview this morning, so hopefully I won't be yawning and such. But it's not going to be easy.

The "celebration of life" event went well. People took lots of vials of KJ's ashes. I'm going to start a log of where/when people release the ashes, so I can track how many cool places she's been scattered. One couple in particular often travels to other countries, so I can't wait to see what they do with her.

One of the cats, Quinn, is really starting to get on my nerves. She was KJ's cat, and she's having difficulty adjusting. She drools on me while I'm trying to sleep, and she jumps on my keyboard while I'm typing.

There are a few things I'm looking forward to. I was getting a little too comfortable with mom here. It's like I was putting off facing my grief, and postponing getting any actual work done. Last night after I got home from the airport, I did a lot of little things around the house, accomplishing more in two hours than I've been getting done in a week.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep up that energy. I have a lot of plans for decorating the house, starting with my D&D room in the basement. Dare I say, it's going to be fun to decorate.

In fact, there's so much I want to do it's going to be hard staying focused. I can't wait for that challenge.

Macabre Party Favors

KJ used to tell me that when she died, she wanted to be cremated and scattered somewhere pretty. Or alternatively, she wanted to be turned into a tree. With that in mind, Mom and I came up with an idea.

This Sunday we're having a "celebration of life" event for her. We've filled little vials full of her ashes, and we're going to give them to people who want them. The idea is that next time they go somewhere nice, like maybe a local park or on vacation, they can scatter the ashes, and that way KJ will be scattered all over the world (or at least the tri-state area). Or if they plant a tree, they can pour her ashes in the hole with it.

I'm not sure if everyone is going to see it the way I do, though. I mean, handing out vials of human ash like they were party favors? It could be seen as being in poor taste. Plus there could be legal issues, depending on where they scatter them.

I don't know. But I believe that KJ would have liked the idea, and that's all that matters to me.

Filling the vials wasn't easy. The vials are very small, and the ashes contain chunks of bone. I wasn't prepared for that. I'd been putting it off for a week, because it's one thing to pack up KJ's possessions, and quite another to pack up KJ.

But today's the last day we had time to do it, so I had to get over it. I'd spent a week telling myself, "It's just ashes. It's no different than how some of the dust in the house is made up of KJ's skin." But seeing the bits of bone hit me hard. I just look at it and think, "This used to be her. This is literally her." On the whole, keeping her ashes is only a few steps removed from having her body stuffed by a taxidermist.

We had to try a bunch of different methods, using various-sized funnels, but nothing worked very well. Mom finally just dipped each vial into the ashes while I took on corking duty. It's nice that we can still find wholesome activities to do together.

So yeah, maybe this was poor taste, or maybe it's a sweet, thoughtful gesture. All I know is that it's the strangest thing I've done in a long time.

Advice Embargo

Today marks three weeks since KJ passed.

A couple of days ago I took my mom to the zoo. Most of the animals stayed hidden, but that wasn't the point for me. I just needed to get out, have a little fun, and try to enjoy life for a minute. It didn't really help. All I could think about was how much I missed doing things like that with KJ. But at least I got some fresh air and exercise. And I met a cool giraffe.

 

The nights are hardest. When things are quiet, I have more time with my thoughts. I can usually fall asleep pretty quickly, but I keep waking up too early and staying up.

Last night I was watching YouTube in bed. I found a video that KJ would have found funny, and I broke down in tears. I wanted her to see the video. I don't know anyone else who would have appreciated it the way she would have. It's like the video was made for her. I wanted to share it with her and I couldn't.

I keep coming across things like that. Like, did you know they've announced a sequel to Practical Magic? I'll probably never watch it, but KJ would have been interested, and I would have loved seeing it with her. But without KJ, that movie has nothing for me.

I've spent the last three decades living at least partially for her. I'm conditioned to look for things she'd like. Doing things for my own enjoyment seems hollow. Like, okay, who am I actually doing this for? What's the point of just me being happy?

I need more time to heal. I'm very glad I don't have a job right now, and that I have enough money coming in that I can keep being picky for a few more months. I wish my family would stop pressuring me to get a job right NOW NOW NOW. I know what I'm doing. I have a schedule. I know I can get a job almost right away if my funds get low, but I have the luxury of waiting for a job I actually want.

Plus some family members are giving me some very elementary advice, some of which I find insulting. "Did you know you can use Google to find jobs?" Wow! I never thought of that! I definitely didn't try that all the way back in January when I moved here!

And some of the jobs they forward to me are 100% scams, which I'd already looked into months ago. Or they require certifications that I don't have. Or I've already applied there and was turned down. Yes I'm on Indeed. Yes I'm on ZipRecruiter. Yes I'm on LinkedIn. And a few others as well. I've been doing this since January, and I've been very thorough.

I know they mean well, and I appreciate their help. But I know what I'm doing. I know they think I'm being too picky. But right now, a bad job is worse than no job. Eventually that will change, but not quite yet.

Three weeks ago I was about to buckle down and put more effort into the job hunt, but then KJ passed away. Now I need a few more weeks to adjust. I don't think it's too much to ask, especially at a time when I can afford it.

I don't need advice right now. I just need sympathy and time.

Feline Blue

The cats are really starting to adopt some strange new behaviors. I think it's finally sinking in that "Mommy's been gone too long, something must be wrong." Quinn used to climb on top of KJ when she was watching TV, but she never did that to me. But now Quinn has started to climb on me the same way, and she's very insistent that I pay attention to her. She also won't let me type. She's climbing on my keyboard as I write this.

But she only climbed on KJ in the living room. Quinn doesn't spend much time in the living room right now, possibly because Mom's here. But Quinn only climbs on me when I'm upstairs in my office.

Quinn's also been walking across my face when I'm trying to sleep, which I believe she used to do to KJ. But my bed is Kara's domain at night, so she sometimes makes Quinn leave.

Kara's been trying to get outside more. The new house has an enclosed front porch, and that's where KJ would go to smoke. So from Kara's perspective, KJ would disappear out that door once every couple of hours. I think Kara's been trying to get out there because that's where she thinks KJ is now. I let her out on the porch earlier tonight, and she started searching all over the place. Granted, cats are naturally curious anyway, so I could be misinterpreting the situation.

Wicket hasn't changed much. He's always been content to spend most of his time in other rooms, so as far as I can tell his routine's the same. But I still think I'm seeing less of him than before.

I'm worried that they'll finally get used to Mom just before she leaves, and then they'll feel twice abandoned.

Nightmares

I had bad dreams all night. KJ was in all of them. In some she was alive, and we interacted and did fun things, but there was a weird vibe in the air, like everything we were doing was Not Meant To Be. In some of the other dreams, I knew she had recently passed away, but I couldn't reach her.

For example, in one dream she went on an overnight trip to a casino, and I knew which one, and somehow I knew she had passed away in her hotel room. I think she actually called me and told me. So I drove the two hours to wherever the casino was, but the hotel staff wouldn't believe me, wouldn't let me in her room, and wouldn't send anyone into the room to check on her.

In another dream we were just sitting in a park, talking. I don't remember the conversation, but it was definitely a sad one. It was like she knew she had to leave, and was saying goodbye. I'm tearing up as I type this, so I'm going to stop now.

Who's Going To Handle The Thermostat?

I published another collection of short stories today. It feels like betrayal doing anything like that. You know, things that are just for me. It's not even been two weeks yet, and this feels dangerously close to "getting back to normal."

But the book was actually finished back in December. I've just been waiting for a couple of beta readers to get back to me. So all I really had to do was fix a few typos, give it a final read-through, and upload the damn thing. It still feels wrong somehow.

My house is a little cold today, or so I'm told. I told mom she could have free reign over the thermostat. It sounds like I'm being a hospitable host, but the truth is I don't actually want the responsibility. I've never been the thermostat master. I don't tend to care about the perfect temperature. I put on a blanket if I'm too cold, and I strip to my boxers if I'm too hot. But my "comfortable range" has always been a lot wider than KJ's.

Once mom leaves in a few weeks, I just don't know how I'm going to manage the thermostat. It's weird the little things that hit you. Yes I'll miss KJ's smile and her personality, but I'll also miss her micromanagement. I'm the type of person who will shiver for hours without noticing I'm cold. Seriously, I just wasn't designed to live by myself.

I have to see a lawyer on Friday. There's probate things I'm supposed to work out. KJ had no assets, no will, no trust, nothing like that. Her family doesn't want anything of hers, and she didn't own anything expensive. But apparently the law here still requires some sort of probate/estate paperwork.

Her bank refuses to close her account until they get that paperwork. I sent them her death certificate, but they said without probate paperwork they'll keep it open, accruing monthly fees. I don't need to claim the money in her account - she only had about $20 in there - but I'm going to end up spending hundreds in legal fees to get it closed, probably.

Hey you, reading this. Leave a will. Even if you're poor, leave a will. It will simplify things for those you leave behind.

I'm not hurting for money yet, so don't worry about me there. Still, if anybody just wants to help me out financially, the usual methods still stand. You can tip me here:

https://buymeacoffee.com/xine

Or you can always buy my books:

https://books2read.com/ap/8N19Lr/Xine-Fury

https://xine-fury.itch.io/ 

The books2read link will take you to a landing page for all my books, which will then link you to Amazon, Kobo, and other e-book retailers. The final link is for itch.io, which is a great site for indy creators (mostly computer games). That site will actually let you download my books as files without the DRM, so you can manually transfer them to whatever device you wish to use.

I don't get much from my book sales, but if you read any of the books and review them, it will help drive more sales in the future.

God, I hate to sound like a shill in a mourning blog, but some of you have been asking if there's anything you can do. If you want to make me feel a little better, book sales are a great start.

I'm really sick of all this.

Hollow Pursuits

Mom and I were sorting boxes today when I came across my wedding album. I was having a good day, but after that I had to sit down and rest a while. I just suddenly lost all my energy.

I'm glad I'm getting things done but I have no idea how to have fun anymore. Sometimes that helps me get things done. I figure if I can't think of anything I'm in the mood for, then I might as well do something I'm never in the mood for. But that policy only takes me so far. Sometimes I feel a wave of grief and suddenly all my energy's gone, like my batteries just suddenly fell out of the compartment.

It's going to take me a while to have fun again. When video games started having achievements and trophies, I really got into achievement hunting. But the hunting also sort of ruined video games for me. Now if I've already gotten all a game's achievements, I'm less likely to go back and play it again.

Tangent: You know, the above could probably be fixed. I think it would be cool if achievements also had a number beside them, indicating how many times you've popped that achievement. Then you'd have more reason to go back and do it all again. But I digress.

It's also harder for me to go back and play older games, the ones from the pre-achievement days. Playing them just feels like wasting my time. I mean, arguably video games are always a waste of time, but counter-arguably you're never wasting time if you're having fun. People need fun now and then, psychologically speaking.

Anyway, I've spent 30+ years training myself to have fun in relation to another human being. Having fun by myself feels like wasting time, in a way it didn't seem so before. Every time I laugh at a comedian on the TV, I look over to make sure KJ is having fun too. Which is why I'm glad my mom's here, but she won't be here forever. I have to learn how to have fun by myself again.

I touched on this in a previous blog, but I do wonder if this was fated to happen. You know I'm not religious, but I still kind of feel like things happen for a reason. People's lives do follow patterns. Fit it into your personal philosophy however you can, but sometimes life plays out like someone is writing it.

I think there is a reason I'm here, in a new state. It's just suspicious to me that KJ lived through more than a decade of failing health, only to pass away shortly after getting the house of her dreams. If she'd died before we moved, I wouldn't have moved. It's like the universe placed me here because it has a plan for me here. 

And then we got her a puppy. We couldn't really afford a puppy, and we didn't have a good plan for integrating it into our household. Normally we wouldn't have made a bad decision like that, but somehow we fell into it.

KJ had been wanting a puppy for years, but it just didn't fit into our lives. Maybe the universe knew KJ was about to die, and wanted her last week to be as happy as possible - a puppy, a new home, etc.

And if any of the above is true, then I also believe that I've been positioned here for a reason. I predict that sometime in the next few years, I'll have an opportunity. I don't know what kind. Financial? Maybe. Romantic? Doubtful. Maybe I'll just meet some new lifelong friends.

But whatever it is, it will be an opportunity that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't moved here. Perhaps it was in the cards all along, a plan put in motion from the moment I lost my job in Tennessee. Or maybe it's all just random.

But if it was by design, I'd really like to ask the universe: Was this really the only way? Really?

But darker thoughts have also occurred to me. KJ hadn't been to the doctor since December. Usually she went every three months, so we would have had an appointment in March. But she's always hated doctors, and she'd been putting off getting a new doctor here.

Maybe if we'd stuck to the schedule, the new doc would have found something. Probably not, but it's possible. So in a way, I blame my old employer for this sequence of events. If they hadn't eliminated my position, then we never would have moved, and she would have gone to the doctor in March, and we would have kept living in that cramped little house. We wouldn't have been as happy there, but we wouldn't know what we were missing, and maybe she would have lived. Maybe.

Anything's possible.

So yeah, as you can see, my thoughts are still all over the place. But I do think I'm getting better.

Making Progress

My mom and I have been cleaning out some of KJ's stuff, dropping clothes off at thrift stores and selling  some of her DVDs and books. This is not going to be a short process - KJ had a lot of stuff, and I'll keep some of it. I'll be finding more things to sell for months if not years.

We're primarily focusing on cleaning up her bedroom in case I decide to get a roommate sometime later. KJ hoarded craft supplies, so I'm looking into local resources. I'd like to get them into the hands of other avid crafters.

The cats are starting to adjust. One of them - Quinn - has been pretty much in hiding since KJ passed. Quinn was "KJ's cat" more than the others, and spent a lot of time climbing on KJ and sleeping in her lap. But for the past week, Quinn has stayed out of sight, sleeping on my bed during the day, or staying in the cat room. But last night she came up to me and insisted I pet her for 20 minutes.

KJ's obituary appeared in the 4/25/2025 edition of the "Beloit Daily News." However, you'll need a subscription to read it, and I've found it's hard as hell to purchase a copy. Her dad had someone pick up a copy for me, but everyone else will have to settle for reading it on Facebook or here:

You'll notice it doesn't mention me. That was an accident; the website writes it for you, and has you put in keywords and fill in blanks like "hobbies" and "relatives." It didn't have a blank for spouse, but I assumed it would put me in there somewhere since I was the one filling out the form. I guess I was supposed to add myself as a relative.

But that's ok. I'm not a traditionalist. I didn't really want to do an obituary anyway, but too many people were asking about it. Mostly the older relatives who don't use Facebook and such, which is why I put it in that particular newspaper. That's where she was born, and her oldest relatives would be more likely to see it there.

We have her ashes now. I didn't buy an urn; there are too many creative people in my family for me to waste money on an expensive knick-knack that wouldn't match her tastes anyway. I'm still thinking about how she'd want to be stored, and I'm leaning towards a giant Coca-Cola can.

There's still paperwork to do, and a lot of it has to be done in a particular order. The car insurance won't let me take her name off until I get new titles in the mail, and the DMV wouldn't process those new titles until I had her death certificate, and the death certificate took a while in itself. It's a lot to deal with when you're already mourning.

All I'm saying is, never die if you can avoid it.

Awake Again

Bah, I can't sleep. I mean, I did sleep. I went to bed around 11, and woke up around 2. But now it's 3:23 and I can't get back to sleep.

The house is full of sleeping pills. KJ couldn't fall asleep without them. But I'm not fond of them. I saw what they did to her sometimes. They knocked her out so soundly that the house could have burned down around her. I don't want to surrender that much control, especially with no other humans in the house.

I did, however, take a Benadryl. My nose is stuffy.

The cats seem to know something is wrong. Kara sleeps with me all night as usual, but her daytime behavior has changed. Since she has no teeth, we supplement her diet with a "cat soup" treat every day. But she's refused to eat it the last two days.

Wicket looks confused, but he always looks confused, so the difference is subtle. Quinn is the most changed. She used to spend half her day in KJ's lap, but I barely saw the cat at all yesterday. I had to go find her, and she was asleep on my bed.

All the cats are more wary of the living room now. It probably has more to do with the puppy we temporarily hosted than KJ being gone. I've cleaned, but the room probably still smells like puppy to them.

Oh well, I'm going to take another stab at sleeping now.

Within Reach

KJ was one of the most amazing people I've ever met. She was creative, honest, sarcastic, kind, and intelligent. We met in mid-1993 through a mutual friend, and bonded over a shared love of Dean Koontz. We moved in together just a couple of months after met. We were married two years later.

When I first met KJ, she was a writer. She spent hours every day writing romance stories, and while she never published anything, her work was always impressive.

From there she went on to cross-stitch, crochet, pour painting, wood burning, jewelry making, resin crafting, and more. And she had a list of other mediums she wanted to try eventually, such as metal working, carpentry, sewing, and cosplay. She jumped from hobby to hobby like she wanted to sample all life had to offer.

We were obsessed with each other, to the point that we often ignored everyone else in the room. Some couples finished each other's sentences, but we didn't even need sentences. We often spoke to each other in movie quotes, and we almost achieved "Darmok at Tanagra" levels of communication.

In our early years together, she was an inexhaustible dynamo. I had trouble keeping up with her. Once we got our first digital camera, we began going to zoos and parks every weekend, and we loved taking pictures together. Money was always tight, but we found our bliss in whatever nature had to offer, and we searched high and low for photo opportunities.

I couldn't afford to give her the life she deserved, but she always told me she loved the life I gave her.

Then in September 2015, KJ had to go to the emergency room for diverticulitis. This was the beginning of the end. Her health was never the same afterwards. She never got all her energy back, and it was like the start of a cascade failure, health-wise.

In the following years she had several more operations, including partial thyroid removal and eye surgery. By the end she was blind in one eye and deaf in one ear, she'd developed diabetes, nearly half of her teeth were fake, she had high blood pressure, she couldn't walk very far, and she had chronic body pains.

She still tried to stay busy, but her body couldn't keep up with her spirit. There was a lot she couldn't do, and for the past couple of years she mostly watched TV while crocheting. She fell into deep depression and developed a gambling addiction. She no longer wanted to watch anything new, preferring the comfort of shows she'd already seen dozens of times. She spent most of her time watching YouTube videos.

Moving out of Nashville helped her disposition a lot. Our new house brought her a lot of joy. She loved this town, and so do I. We could easily see ourselves growing old together in this house, sitting out on the screened-in front porch and watching the cars go by.

She was making progress, anyway. There's no way to be sure how it would have gone, but I know I saw improvement. We started watching new movies and TV shows again. She was greatly looking forward to the new Fantastic Four movie. And then we got the puppy, and it made her so happy. She'd wanted a dog for years.

If there's actually any rhyme or reason to the universe, an actual cosmic plot guiding our fates, then I'd like to believe her death was inevitable, and the universe was just trying to make her final days more comfortable.

I'd like to believe that. But I don't. They say it's always darkest just before the dawn, but in my experience the reverse is more often true. The universe just loves to give you false hope, putting the promised land within reach before it pulls the rug out from under you.

Screw this universe. I want my money back.

Slight Improvement

I'm doing ok tonight. I mean, I'm still devastated, but the despair isn't as big as it was. My mom is flying into town tomorrow, and I'm really looking forward to seeing her. I'm seeing joy in the little things. I actually applied to a few jobs today - I was going to take a week or two off on the job hunt, but right this minute I think I have the energy to go to a job interview.

I might disagree tomorrow. I mean, my emotions are on a big see-saw right now. But I can always cancel an interview if I'm not feeling up to it when the day comes. And most of these places take a week or two to get back to me anyway. I do have a job interview on Tuesday, and I don't know if I'll go to it or not, but right now I'm thinking I could manage it.

I didn't accomplish much today, but I don't feel guilty about it. I needed the downtime. I wish I could write, but I'll probably need a couple of weeks to heal first.

Souvenirs

Everyone likes souvenirs, right? The EMTs left the following behind:

 

In case you can't see the image, it depicts a disposable mask for delivering oxygen, the instructions for said face mask (one corner partially chewed by a puppy), a sheet of toe tags with one missing, and the peel-off liners for some defibrillator pads.

This isn't a complaint. I'd rather the EMTs concentrate on saving lives than on cleaning up after themselves. But it's still not fun finding these things around your living room after a tragedy.

However, I can't bring myself to throw these items away. I still keep having thoughts that this is just a dream, that KJ's just in the other room, that she'll be back soon, and so on.

Have you ever been watching a movie, and you're looking down at your popcorn or something when a major character dies? But it happens so fast, and there's hardly any mention of it later, and you're like, "Wait, did they just kill off Admiral Ackbar?"

The EMTs were here for over two hours on Friday night. But in my mind, it still happened so fast that sometimes I can't believe it. Like, maybe KJ went out of town, and I only dreamed she died.

Whenever I start deluding myself, trying to convince myself that she's still alive somewhere, I glance at my pile of souvenirs. It grounds me, and keeps me in reality. I'll reduce the stack soon. I'll trash the instructions and the liners, and put the toe tags in a folder somewhere (I find them interesting enough to keep, despite their backstory).

But I'm going to keep the mask out for a while, at least until I receive KJ's ashes. Whenever I find myself questioning reality, I can look at the mask for confirmation. It's a punch in the gut every time I look at it, but it keeps me from questioning my memories.

They talk about the seven stages of grief, and I am plowing through them. But not in order, and there's a lot of regression. At random points throughout the day, I'll have periods of denial, anger, acceptance, denial again, and so on.

I've been watching comfort videos today. For the past few months, KJ and I have been watching a lot of reaction videos where people watch a popular movie for the first time. One of our favorites is Popcorn in Bed. The host of the channel missed a lot of major movies growing up, and watching her watch them is like seeing them for the first time.

KJ and I had nearly exhausted the channel, but we hadn't gotten around to watching the Star Wars ones. So today, I'm having a Star Wars reaction marathon. The videos are junk food for the soul, but they do cheer me up.

I had a sobbing fit when Luke's aunt and uncle died. I'd never cried for them before, not even when I first saw the movie as a little kid. Little things like that trigger me throughout the day. Most of the time I'm stable, if emotionally tired. Then I'll have a random thought and lose my cool.

But I think I am getting a little stronger. I still feel lost, confused, and more miserable than I've ever been, but I don't feel hopeless.

At least that's something.

Good Morning

I finally got a full night's sleep. My friends came to visit me yesterday. It was so good to see them; they're wonderful people. I gave them the puppy KJ had recently purchased, along with all the accessories.

If you haven't been following my life: A week ago, KJ bought a new puppy, a tiny Yorkie. KJ had been suffering from depression, and the puppy made her the happiest she's been in a long time. It's comforting to know that KJ's final week was a good one, even if her final hour was not.

But the puppy upset the family dynamic. We had to block off the living room from the rest of the house, because the puppy was still pad training, and the cats refused to go into the living room with all the puppy smell. Now that the puppy is gone, maybe things can go back to normal. For the cats, anyway.

I can't imagine what this is like from the cats' point of view. We get a new animal that they hate, it blocks off part of the house for them. Then when the dog finally leaves, mommy is gone too. I don't know if they still expect her to come back or what. Whenever KJ's gone for an unusual amount of time, the cats ask about her. Quinn (the tortie) was especially attached to her, and loved climbing on her to sleep.

After my friends left, I didn't do much with my day. I tried to take a nap, twice, and was mostly unsuccessful. I ate a salad for dinner (KJ's salad), and watched YouTube for about an hour. Then I fell asleep on the couch, hurting my neck badly.

I finally got up and went to bed around 9:30 (I usually go to bed around 11). I slept pretty deeply, and woke up around 5:30.

Mom wants me to find a local grief counseling group to attend today, but I doubt I will. I did a little searching on that yesterday, and most of the groups I found were religion-based. I don't want to insult anyone's religion, but I don't need people advising me to pray and put my faith in God to get over KJ's death. That tactic just won't work on me.

Besides, I have plans today. My cats are still afraid of the living room because of the dog smell, and I'm pretty sure there's still a few accidents I haven't found. I'm going to take a shower, start a load of laundry (the living room blankets smell heavily of dog), and clean the living room a bit. It's not much, but it will probably take me most of the day. Even if I don't get it all done, it's nice to have a plan.

No... it's even worse than that.

 ...because every time I've had to do something difficult in the last three decades, I've gotten through it by thinking, "Do it for her." She gave me that strength. Who am I doing it for now?

I'm currently trying to take a nap, which might not be very obvious given that I'm somehow typing this. I'm dead tired, but sleep won't come. I managed to fall asleep for about 30 seconds, and had a dream about someone trying to shove a coat hanger into my throat. I'm going to try again in a minute.

My Right Hand

I've always heard indispensable people referred to as "my right hand." As in, "Oh, my assistant Charlotte? She's my right hand. I couldn't find my keys without her." I always thought I understood that phrase. I mean, yeah, she's important. So important that losing her would be like losing a body part. That's just a degree of importance, but it doesn't make it clear all the ramifications of what it means.

When I say losing KJ was like losing my right hand, I literally mean it was like losing a body part. Your hand isn't just important, not in the way other things are important. Losing a hand is a serious lifestyle change. It affects all aspects of your life. How you get dressed, how you drive, how you eat - it's all going to change.

I've been with KJ for thirty-two years. That's well over half my life. That kind of partnership has a formative effect on you. She is literally part of my personality. I can't watch a video without thinking about how KJ will react. I can't hear a joke without thinking, "Wait until I tell her this one." I can't make a decision without needing to hear her opinion.

It's like those stories you hear about K9 dogs. You know, the ones that become so bonded to their partners, that when the officers die, the dog has to retire.

It's been nearly twenty years since my father died. To this day, sometimes I'll see a movie and wonder what he would have thought of it. It kills me that I can't see his reaction. It kills me that I can't ask him his opinions on things.

But that's nothing compared to this. KJ was the guiding force in our relationship, and she's been a deciding influence in every decision I've made in the past three decades. I think about life without her, and the future just looks blank. I wanted to grow old with her. Now? I don't know what I want. I'm traveling unknown waters here, and I don't even know how I want things to turn out.

Please don't worry about me doing anything drastic. That's not what this is about. I promise that I won't do any sort of self-harm. As for what I will do... that's up in the air.

Zombie

I did finally fall asleep for about three hours. I am a zombie today. I don't feel anything. I visited my daily websites, vapidly clicking each link out of habit rather than interest. I need to shower, because some friends are visiting later. But I don't know if I have the energy. It's a whole lot of why this, why that, why bother. My sole motivator is gone. There's no point of anything anymore, and I am so done with today.

And it's not even 7 AM.

I Tried

Well, I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. I think I'm up for the long haul.

She died in pain. That's what bothers me most. The coroner tried to tell me that it happened suddenly, too quickly for her to be in pain. But KJ was in severe pain - more than I'd ever seen - right up until the minute she passed out. One of the last things she said to me was something along the lines of, "Why me? I never hurt anyone."

I keep hearing her voice. I think it's the puppy downstairs, yowling because it doesn't like being left alone at night. But on the periphery of my hearing, it sounds like KJ calling for me to come downstairs. I'm going to have these auditory hallucinations for a long time. Every gust of wind, every creak of the house, I'll hear her voice in it.

I have never lived alone. I went from living with my parents, to living in a dorm room with a roommate, to living with my parents again, to living in an apartment with KJ and two other roommates, to living exclusively with KJ. It's been years since we've slept in the same bed, but I always felt better knowing she was in the house. Safer, more complete.

I still keep thinking I'm going to wake up tomorrow and find this was all a dream. Of course, waking up would require sleeping. In the 37 years we've been together, we've spent maybe ten nights apart. And every time she was gone, I had trouble sleeping. I might never sleep again.

I always assumed I'd outlive her. Between her health problems, her smoking, and her poor diet, I just figured I'd last a few years longer than her. But I at least thought we'd have another ten, maybe even twenty years together.

I don't want to get rid of her stuff. Even her clothes - I mean, I have absolutely no use for it, but it's like, "What if I give it away and then she comes back?" But another part of me thinks, "Get rid of it all as quickly as possible, because having it around reminds me of her, and that's torture."

It's too early for me to be having those thoughts anyway. Right now I just need to come to terms with her death. I can think about settling her affairs in a few days. But then, that's not how my brain works. I'm going over everything right now. Every little thing.

I don't think I'll ever be in another relationship. I've been saying that for years. We often talked about whether we'd date again if the other died. I just don't see it. Not because KJ was the perfect woman - I mean, she was perfect for me, but nobody's truly perfect - but rather because I'm so broken, and I don't have the energy to mask enough to make someone like me. Relationships are hard work, and I don't believe I'll ever have that kind of drive again.

Things were going so well. Yeah, the job search sucks, and there's the fear that I can't really afford to live in my new house. But we love this new town, we love the house, we love the neighborhood, we've finally paid off a lot of debts, and overall it just felt like a fresh, new start. The second half of our lives could begin.

Fuck.

In Memoriam

My wife passed away a few hours ago. She was the victim of a sudden, massive heart attack. I am beyond inconsolable. My life doesn't make sense anymore. I keep expecting to see her walk back into the room. What even am I without her? We've been married for nearly thirty years. I've never lived alone.

KJ has had chronic pain issues for years. Her right shoulder in particular has given her a lot of trouble. I swear some of our family thought she was faking it, but they weren't there those nights that she was howling in pain, waiting for the medicine to kick in.

She went to the doctor every three months for over a decade, but he never could figure out what was wrong. He did all sorts of tests. We went to various specialists, but no one could ever find the source. Part of it had to be the way she slept - ever since her hernia operation about six years ago, she couldn't sleep on a bed anymore. It just wasn't comfortable. So she slept in an easy chair, but she often stayed up until she literally passed out, and would fall asleep with her head leaning forward.

It was usually just the one shoulder that hurt. Tonight the pain traveled to her left side as well. We tried the usual tricks. Pain pills, Pepto Bismol, 7-Up (sometimes the pain was so intense it caused nausea). I used the massager on her shoulders.

She told me, "If it doesn't go away in 15 minutes, we're going to the hospital." I even put my jeans and shoes on, ready to walk out the door if we needed to. Then she had to throw up. I gave her the trash can and she sat cross-legged on the floor, spitting up into the trash can. Then she leaned into the trash can and just sat there for a while, trying to catch her breath.

I don't know when she died. She stopped whimpering after a few minutes, and I thought she'd fallen asleep. Sometimes the pain is so bad she passes out. I sat there for about twenty minutes, stupidly browsing social media while I waited for her to recover. I didn't want to wake her up if she was asleep, because what if the pain hadn't faded yet? It would be better to let her sleep through it. 

But at the same time, she was in such an awkward position, sitting on the floor hunched over the trash can.
I didn't want her to wake up with back pain. I waited an uncomfortable amount of time, trying to find that sweet spot between "wake her too early and she's still in pain" and "wake her too late and she throws out her back." I've woken her up too early before, and regretted it. But she was not in a good sleeping position.

I don't know how long I waited. I thought I saw her breathing the whole time, but I must have imagined it. Finally I touched her back, but got no reaction. I talked to her, no reaction. I shook her, no reaction. Then I moved over to her and looked at her face.

I will never forget that face. I'm going to see it in my nightmares, which is why I'm up at 1 AM typing this instead of getting into bed right now. She looked like a drowning victim in the movies. Her face was gray, her eyes were open and yellow. Her nose was running, and drool leaked from her lips.

I called 911 right away. They had me do CPR until they got there, but I knew she was already gone. There were just no signs of life. No warmth, no breath, no spark. There was nothing there to save.

When the EMTs arrived, they had me wait outside, and asked me a few questions. I collapsed on my lawn, wailing while I waited for them to come back and update me. They took an incredible amount of time. I later found that they'd gone through her purse for her identification, and they also went through her medicine cabinet to see what she'd been taking.

Finally one guy came out and informed me that she had passed away. I hate my brain. My thoughts were swirling with all the usual "How am I going to live without her" and "What do I do now." But thanks to all the true crime shows KJ watches, I also had "Does my grief look genuine enough, or will I be a murder suspect?" Ugh.

But no, the coroner told me later that it was definitely a heart attack. She said that there was nothing I could have done. Even if I'd taken her to the hospital right when the pain began, she would have been gone by the time we arrived.

Which should make me feel a little better, but it doesn't. Not even a bit. I'm going to beat myself up forever, wondering what I could have done to prevent it. We've lived in our new state since January, and she hasn't gone to the doctor since the move. We kept meaning to find a new doctor here, but she hates going to the doctor so much, we kept putting it off. Maybe if we'd gone, they would have detected something. Maybe maybe maybe.

Fuck. Fuckity-fuck fuck fuck.

I don't know where to go from here. She's a big part of why we moved where we moved. She just got a new puppy less than a week ago. We're going to give it to some friends. No, I'm going to give it to some friends. I have to start thinking like a single unit again. Everything in my head is we this, we that. And I keep talking about KJ in present tense, like the "she hates going to the doctor" above.

And then there's the intrusive, "maybe it's not so bad" thoughts. You know, like, "At least I won't have to buy her expensive Capri cigarettes anymore." Jesus Christ. I want to slap thoughts like that right out of my head. If KJ were here, maybe I could get her to slap me. I'd gladly let her smoke imported Cuban cigars for the rest of her life if it would bring her back to me.

We had plans! We were going to go to the zoo soon! In July we were going to go to Gatlinburg and get our chair lift photo - we try to do that every five years. This is just so sudden. Tomorrow I have to start thinking about things like closing bank accounts and whether I really need two cars.

I have no friends here. I haven't met anyone since the move. I'm alone in a strange city, with no job or life direction. KJ wasn't perfect. We disagreed on a lot of topics. Sometimes our shouting matches drove the cats into hiding. But she was still my reason for getting up in the morning, and knowing she was in the house helped me sleep at night.

This house is too big for one person. Maybe I'll look for a roommate, I don't know. Maybe I'll move closer to family. I don't know what I'm going to do. I know I'm not going to sleep tonight.

Rest in peace, KJ. I will always love you.

Nomads of Zyden

I've just published my eight novel, a swords-and-sorcery fantasy called "Nomads of Zyden." I'm particularly proud of this one, as it feels more like a mainstream novel, as opposed to the politics-heavy niche stories I usually write. I'm not even sure what I mean by that, I think I'm just trying to say that my leftist views come across really heavily in most of my work.

This one is more politically neutral, though it does feature multiple LGBT characters. I personally don't consider that political, but some people do. They can bite me. My gender identity and sexual orientation aren't political statements, they just are.

But I've gone off subject. Another difference is that most of my books are short story collections. Even the Bloodhunters series, which are presented as novels, are composed of serialized stories, many of which could be read in any order. Admittedly, this one still feels a bit like three novellas tied together (and I almost released it that way), but I think it's way more cohesive than the books I usually write.

A synopsis:

When a tribe of ghoulish monsters wipes out her mountain clan, a fierce warrior named Marta sets out on a mission of revenge. But while she grew up fighting giant beasts in the frigid wastelands, she isn’t prepared for the culture shock of meeting people from the lowlands.

During her epic journey she befriends a jester, a fairy, and a woman with whom she shares a magical bond. Together they take on a much larger quest in which they must explore ancient temples and fight ruthless monsters, all to retrieve a set of artifacts that will help them defeat an all-powerful evil. Their time is short and the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

 You can find it, and all my other books, here:

Books by Xine Fury

 

I Hate Commerce

Two things bugging me today.

First, we've spent all day waiting for an electrician to show up. This was part of the deal when we bought the house - the inspection service suggested a few upgrades and fixes to our electrical system, and the seller gave us a check written to a specific company to do the work. Well, the company they picked is very small, and the recent snow has put them behind. 

They've had to reschedule this job a couple of times, and they were supposed to be here this morning. It's 3 PM as I write this, and they're saying they should be here in half an hour. This late, they might not have time to finish today, so they may have to come back next week.

It's not a biggie, except that we had to put an entire day aside when there's other things we could be doing. Still, it's a first-world problem.

My second issue is more irritating. When I moved out of the old house, the realtor told me not to cancel the utilities. She said that it's a pain to get them turned back on, and that it's easier for the buyer to call and have the services transferred into their name.

I logged back into both accounts two weeks later, and found that they were still in my name. So I e-mailed my realtor, and she got with the new owners, then got back to me with, "Don't worry about it, they're going to take care of it."

Then two weeks after that, I got the bills for the month we didn't live there. I called both utilities, and both told me the same thing: Even if I send them proof I didn't live there, I still have to pay the bills because they were in my name. Which is exactly what I would have assumed in the first place, if I hadn't been told by the realtor not to cancel the services.

Anyway, I've canceled them now, but I'm annoyed that I have to pay for an extra month. I'm going to try to get the new owners to pay me back, but it's only $150, so it's not really worth the effort getting lawyers involved.

But it's not even the money that annoys me, it's that I followed instructions to the letter and still got punished.

Keeper of the Keys

I really love this house, despite all its quirks. Actually the imperfections make me like it more. It's more than 100 years old, but it's been updated and expanded over the years, so there's a ton of things I haven't seen since going to my grandmother's as a kid. Some of the doors still have big keyholes, the air vents are antiquated, and half the power outlets are two-pronged.

We bought a set of four locks and four deadbolts that all use the same key, and changed all the locks in the house. The thing is, each lock and each deadbolt included three keys. So we now have 24 identical keys to this house. Seems a little excessive, but at least I can give some to close friends and family members.

We're Really, Really Here

Well... *huff huff* We're finally... *huff huff* ...completely out of Nashville. We've technically owned our new home since the beginning of the month, but we had a deal that allowed us to stay in the old house until the 18th. And boy did we need it. Between snow delays, unexpected expenses, and backbreaking work, it's been a hell of a month.

The movers came last week. They worked all day long, but had to stop when the semi was full. They managed to get all of our furniture, but only about two-thirds of our stuff. I swear we're not hoarders. We're collectors. It's not like we had stacks of old newspapers or used diapers in the corner.

For my part, I have a lot of hobbies - D&D, video games, writing, toys, and so on. I love my stuff and I'm glad I finally have a house big enough to display everything. As for my wife, she is creative and loves crafting, and she jumps from project to project such as painting, wood burning, crochet, jewelry making, and so on. She's also an avid reader and owns hundreds of books. Plus we have a large DVD collection.

These hobbies require a lot of space, and I'm surprised we fit all that stuff in our old, 1,024 square foot house. Nothing could have prepared me for how much time and space it took to move at all. There's an old saying about how the things you own end up owning you. I never believed that until now. Still, I like my stuff and want to keep as much of it as possible.

So, after spending an ungodly amount of money on the movers, we still had plenty to move. We spent several days driving up and down, almost three hours each way, loading up our Rogue with boxes. A friend in Nashville offered to let us store some stuff in his garage, so we rented a U-Haul van and put some of our things there.

But the final day was coming, and there was plenty left that had to go. We had to pick out what was important to us, and hired a junk guy to haul off the rest. That was yesterday.

We spent all day working yesterday, packing the Rogue, dropping more stuff off at my friend's garage, filling up both cars for the final load, and cleaning the house. We finished around 10 PM, and finally got home around 2 AM.

Today I'm going to take it easy. Every muscle is screaming at me, and I can't find the energy to do much. The last few weeks have been nothing but packing and moving boxes around, and now I can barely see straight. My wife, who suffers from chronic pain, will probably be in and out of consciousness all day.

The good news is, I found a few cool things I hadn't seen in years. We lived at our old house for 18 years, and some of the stuff in the attic had been there the entire time. I found an original X-Box as well as a PS1 (the cute little slim model they released later) with several games:

I haven't found a controller yet for the PS1, but it's still a nice find. I also found a ton of cool action figures I hadn't seen in a long time.

But we didn't have time to go through all the boxes, so the junk guys probably took away a few things we would have liked to have. We just ran out of time and energy. Oh well, if we didn't miss it in 18 years, it can't have been that important.

I'm going to go to sleep until Tuesday.

Dream: Space 'n' Vader

Last night I dreamed that I got a new job, working as a valet on the Death Star. I'm not exactly sure how one drives to the Death Star, but hey, I just park the cars, I don't ask questions. A couple of Autobots (specifically Springer and Kup from the 80's movie) worked in the parking garage, repairing cars. Sometimes they would convert people's ordinary cars into Transformers while they were parked.

While I was working, an ambassador came to visit. She was an evil witch queen, and she actually went by the name "Evil Witch Queen." She wore a red dress and her face was painted white, like an evil version of Queen Amidala. She floated through the halls with little crackles of electricity sparking around her, and she gave orders to the Stormtroopers like she was their boss. But the Stormtroopers just stood around looking confused, unsure if they should follow her orders.

At one point she went too far with her demands, and Darth Vader came out to see what was causing the commotion. Vader was in his normal outfit, but also wearing bunny slippers and carrying a coffee mug and a newspaper, like he'd just woken up. Barely giving the Evil Witch Queen more than a thought, he pointed at her and used the Force to slam her into the walls a few times, then turned around and left.

Looking a bit like Loki after his run-in with the Hulk, the Evil Witch Queen groaned and asked for her car keys. I handed them back, worried about what she'd do when she found out her car was now a Transformer. That's all I remember.

We’re Really Here

Things are simultaneously moving super-fast and super-slow. We haven't offically "moved" yet, but I have spent a night in my new house. I can’t believe how big it is compared to the old one. Our old house was a measly 1,024 square feet, and it was so cramped with all our hobbies. Our new house is nearly triple that size.

But even cooler, it actually feels like our own house. Our old house was a unit in a fourplex, and we shared our walls with other homeowners. One of the adjacent units was owned by a landlord who rented it out, so neighbors moved in and out a lot, and some of them were really loud.

Never buy a unit in a multi-house dwelling. Just don’t. You end up with all the disadvantages of renting, only now you’re responsible for all the maintenance. Plus you have all the questions – when the shared driveway needs repaving, who pays for it? If your neighbors play loud music, who do you complain to?

Honestly, it’s weird to me that I can “own” a piece of a building. I mean, who owns the wall between me and my neighbor’s unit? What if I decided to knock down the wall that leads to my neighbor’s bedroom? I mean, I own the wall, I paid for it. But she did too, which is the confusing part.

But now… I have a house. My own house. With a little fenced-in backyard, a garage, a basement… and I don’t have to share my walls with anyone.

Now I just have to make sure I can afford the damn thing. I have a severance package to live on, so getting a new job isn’t an emergency. But it would still be nice to make double paychecks for a few months, so I’m not going to rest on my laurels, either. My goal is to have a job by the end of January, and use the extra income to pay off some debts and furnish the new place.

With a little luck, I’ll get something I actually enjoy.