Saturday, Sunny, No Plans

Since becoming a widower, weekends have become like landmines. I did have plans for a friend to come out and spend the weekend here, but he cancelled at the last minute, leaving me with no plans.

When I was marriend there was, somehow, always a plan. That is just how two people live together, I guess. When she was out of town or had something planned without me, it was nice, then, to have no plans.

The no-plan, however, has crept in and taken over my life. Aimlessness is one of the main components of my grief. Wendy and I were busy all the time. Now that she's gone, there are even more things for me to do and simultaneously less reason to get them done.

But that's not entirely true. I'm not remembering it right. I was capable of wasting weekends before Wendy died. She could be industrious, working around me while I sat on the couch playing video games for hours or watching TV. By Sunday evening, I would be so disgusted at myself for letting the weekend go without accomplishing anything.

And that's another component of grief: fictionalization. I started this post remembering only the best parts of my life before she died.

Not doing stuff brings me closer to that big, black river.