Well, I am finally doing it. After all the years of writing for newspapers, magazines, books, and talking on the radio I am leaping into the cyber vortex of blogging. The purpose of my blog has been carefully crafted and discussed in several focus groups and then run through the standard statistical analyses to come up with a clear and laser sharp focus so you my dear reader will know EXACTLY what my goals are. Nothing wishy-washy about me you might say. So I am here to announce the purpose of my blog is to talk about nothing. Nothing! Yup, nothing. Nothing has gotten a raw deal over the years. My goal is to change that. Even nothing can become something, and that is what I am here to talk about.

First let’s go over the rules for conversing about nothing with me. There aren’t any rules expect for having some minimal good manners, a sense of humor, and a desire to dialogue. If you overstep my invisible and forever moving line of tolerance I will let you and the entire blogosphere know about it.

So here is what is on my mind today. I have just pasted my first year of life without my husband John. I survived a year of gay widowhood with only minimal trauma such as trying to make sense and understand how to live life as widower. A gay widower. So far from what I can figure out the best I got away with this past year is not throwing myself into oncoming traffic. John and I were together for 26 years and legally married for the last two. John also had the stupidity to basically drop dead without much preamble. He just died. I hated that. I hate the fact that life was going along one way on a Monday and at 3 in the morning the very next Sunday he was dead.

A year of widowhood has taught me many things. People grow tired of grief very quickly. They seem to want me to “get over it and move on.” Well, if someone knows how to make this actually happen please blog me a note. I am clueless.

People attempt words of “encouragement” which basically just piss me off. They say things like:

“Come on mate, cheer up. It is what John would have wanted. Time to carry on!”

There are two major things wrong with these sentiments. First, why in the hell has everyone turned in any character from virtually any BBC comedy? It is so annoying. The second thing is how the hell do all of these people who never knew John suddenly have insight into his thinking? I lived and loved this man for half of my life and I am not certain what he would want me to do at this point. (However, the thought of swallowing razor blades has an appeal that I cannot deny.)

Here are the three phases that make me want to set my hair aflame.

1. “You know, it is going to take a LONG time.”
Trust me on this. I KNOW. It has been a year and if I can remember where I am and not scream at the top of my lungs several times a day I am doing okay. Just to help those who are keeping score I have yet had a good day.

2. “I am sorry for your loss.”
My husband is dead. I have not misplaced my car keys. There is a difference.

3. “Call me if you need anything.”
Never utter these words unless you are prepared to come over at three am in a blizzard and watch a crazed widower puke. If you have a hard time stopping by with some soup chances are poor you are going to be of much help when the implanted bombs of grief explode without notice.

So there you have it. I am now a fully defrocked blogger. So if you excuse me I have to go walk the dog, give my chronically constipated cat an enema, make dinner, throw darts at the contestants on Jeopardy! for the sheer fun of it, read the bible, and continue to look for John. He cannot be dead. Dead is what dead people do. He must be somewhere. Maybe next to my car keys?