Widow without make up

Smelling the Roses When I Still Cared

I think I’m devolving into a blancmange. (I loved the whole Devo, de-evolution thing).

About a year after George died, I realized that life on Planet Widow also meant that I was single. That was weird. I was never really single, having been with George since my high school prom until his death 32 years later.  I hadn’t dated since I was 16.  I hadn’t socialized since my early thirties when George and I matured into anti-social geeks and bought home electronics instead of having kids.

So, I started dating and bought new make-up, thrilled to learn from the Chanel make-up artist that I should be using way more concealer.  It’s also why I don’t see my dermatologist unless I’ve exploded in poison oak; he points out the effects of aging on my face and I want to punch him in his perma-tanned nose.

I prepped for the whole dating and socializing thing, cute new clothes, living on salad and pre-made kale soup (and gin), never missing a hair or nail appointment.  My appearance was my major accomplishment.  My problem was that aside from redecorating, spending tons of time on online dating and writing mean blog posts about it (Ok, I’m proud if that one), it was my only accomplishment.

I was frighteningly social.  I joined groups.  One male friend called me a “high-end single woman.”  I “got out there,” odious cliche that it is.

This summer, I realized I’m sick of all of it.  I like binge-wathing old TV series in my sweat pants.  I loved “Californication” and “Weeds,” now I’m watching the seven seasons of “Gilmore Girls,” causing me to eat more pizza and cake (uuuummmmm….cake).

I’ve even gotten sick of my perpetual vinyasa yoga classes.  Pulling on lycra pants at 5:10 in the evening has started to irritate me.  I remind myself that yoga is the key to youth and the only thing that alleviated my muffin top. Eh—- whatever, can’t fight gravity….

When I was online dating, my life started to feel like a sick experiment in singledom for the high maintenance.  But now I worry that my new self-awareness may lead me to become a metaphorical can of pudding.   I’ve mutated into the equivalent of some video-gaming, personal hygiene-disregarding teen except without the video games.

Pudding

The new moi

I don’t have to answer to anyone but my Roku, my blog and my local sushi bar.  It’s like college but I have credit cards where I can afford to buy the fancy, high-end takeout.  Oh yeah, I’m writing a book. So it’ s also kinda like the summer I was studying for the bar exam.  And my blog will now be the repository for my random, un-bookworthy thoughts.

Any of you guys ever give up on your appearance and/or the outside world for awhile? Did you ever go back?