Ka-Thump!

I’ve been sitting here, my cursor at the left margin, staring at this photo, for about an hour, trying to think of an appropriate metaphor for the way I’m feeling lately.  I started to construct an elaborate parallel between an alternative to Guth’s inflation theory of cosmology and my life, but gave up on it when I realized it wouldn’t work unless I spent several paragraphs contrasting the new theory with the old and discussing cosmology in general.

So here’s where I finally landed:  Zombies.

There exists the concept of the philosophical zombie (p-zombie), a creature that mimics human behavior perfectly but without conscious experience.  Poke it with a stick and it will recoil and claim to be in pain, but is it really so if the p-zombie isn’t consciously able to perceive pain?  P-zombies are used in thought experiments by philosophers and psychologists.

I’ve been a grief zombie.  I’ve been un-dead.

When I learned that my husband was terminal, I figured I would “handle it” fairly well.  I knew myself to be a strong, intelligent, determined woman.   A few months later, after a summer when it seemed that he would beat the odds and survive, I held his hand as his heart stopped beating. It seemed that my own heart stopped, too.

Since then, I wake up and go to sleep, I eat and drink, I bathe and brush my teeth, I clean my apartment and do my laundry, I buy groceries and gas, I spend time with my family, I watch TV.  But like Romero’s zombies who gather at the mall, I only do these things out of habit. I’ve been shuffling through my days, barely aware of my surroundings.

A couple of weeks ago, I caught myself dancing in my kitchen.  It was as if my long dormant heart had momentarily come back to life–ka-thump!  I was so astonished that I stopped dancing and stood stock-still, amazed.

I’m looking forward to my next heartbeat.

Is It Me or Is It Colorado?

In the 1980s I moved 5 times.

I remember each move as a positive experience, a chance to explore new places, meet new people, learn a new job.  Each was directed by the Air Force, who has moving all figured out.  Shortly after receiving my orders, I was always contacted by someone at my new base whose job it was to make my move easier, taking me on a tour of the area, introducing me to my coworkers and giving me any help I needed to settle into my new home and my new job.

Wherever I was stationed, I met local people who had never considered moving from their home town.  That was something I couldn’t understand at the time because I thought moving was great fun.  The only thing I didn’t like about moving is that I wasn’t doing it often enough.

In 1988 Hal and I moved to the Virginia Peninsula and eventually left the military.  We stayed there for 21 years.  Although my decision to move to Colorado was prompted by Hal’s death, I nevertheless looked forward to meeting new people and doing new things.  It was the first time moving had been my choice, and I expected that this would make it even better.

It hasn’t worked out the way I thought it would.  It’s surprising to me how hard it has been without the kind of assistance the Air Force provided me.  I joined a writers organization and attended some critique groups, but I felt less than welcome.  It seemed that because I was new to the group, the other members assumed I must be new to writing; they lectured me as if I knew nothing.  I finally found a critique group where I feel comfortable, but I worry constantly that I will do or say something that will result in my expulsion.

Back in Virginia, my social circle largely consisted of people I knew from Toastmasters, so this spring I tried to find a Toastmasters club to join.  I never made it to the first meeting because I couldn’t find the location, and no one had given me a phone number to call and get help.  The second club seemed happy to have me but never contacted me afterward to invite me to return.  This behavior would have been unprecedented in Virginia.

There are days when I’m sure it’s the people here, that Coloradans are more insular than Virginians, that they don’t deal well with new people.  Maybe it’s because in Virginia I was surrounded by a half dozen military bases, and people came and went a lot more often than they do in Denver.  There are days when I tell myself that it’s not me, it’s everyone else that’s to blame for my bad experiences so far.

But there are days–today is one of them–that I’m convinced that it is me, that I can’t fit in, that there’s something about me that people don’t like, some cultural taboo unique to Colorado that I’m breaking, and that moving here was a terrible mistake.

It didn’t take much to put me in this state of mind.  I’m attending a writing conference this weekend, and volunteered to moderate one of the workshops.  I was told that I would be invited to a kick-off party tonight for all the volunteers, but I have yet to be informed where and when this party will be.  Is this an oversight by the organizers or have I been snubbed?  I won’t ask because today I’m afraid  it’s the latter.

This has been enough to make the upcoming conference something I’m now dreading.  I don’t enjoy crowds because I’m convinced that I’m the largest person in the room and so do my best to avoid drawing attention to myself, usually by sitting in a corner and not speaking to anyone.  When meeting new people, I worry that I will talk too much and end up not talking enough.  What this means is that I generally avoid parties, but I was planning to attend this one in order to ease myself into the conference.

Yesterday I allowed myself to think that when I got to the editor’s workshop, everyone would love my work and say that I have talent.  Today I’m sure the consensus will be that I should stop wasting my time.

Today I’m wondering how many garbage bags it will take to pack up everything related to writing and carry it all to the dumpster.  I’m thinking about how much roomier my tiny apartment would be if I did that–how I could rearrange my furniture for evenings and weekends spent in front of the television instead of at my desk.  Today I’m wondering if I wouldn’t be happier just to go to work and come home to Stouffer’s and Jeopardy! Maybe I’ll be grateful to have someone relieve me of my delusions.

I don’t think I’m going to be able to write today.