Pain

Nobody in this insular, provincial, self-absorbed town cares whether I live or die.

Okay, how's that for a self-absorbed statement?  Why should they care?  Why should anyone in this town, where I am new, where I have no background, where I have no connections, care about me?

Of course, there is no reason.  But, that is what pain does to you.  Pain concentrates your attention on the pain.  Pain concentrates your attention, because something is wrong.  You need to fix whatever is wrong, or, at least, avoid making the problem any worse.

If I knew what the problem was, I would fix it.

Of course, I do know what the problem is.  The problem is that Gloria is dead.  The problem is that I am alone, in a strange town, with strange people, and strange churches, and I do not have a best friend.  I do not have a wife.  I do not have any administrative support, for any of my attempts to address any of these issues.  The various projects that I am proposing to people, and organizations, and charities, and churches, could all use some administrative assistance.  And I could use administration, in contacting the right people, bugging them after I contacted them, and developing the ideas further so they are as complete as possible when I do get somebody's interest.  It's only one aspect of what I don't have.  I also don't have a job: my previous job was, basically, taking care of Gloria.  I do not have any friends, since all my former friends are terrified that I will talk about Gloria, or death, or grief.  And, of course, all of the people here, who do not care if I live or die, also are terrified that I will talk about Gloria, or pain, or death, or grief, as soon as I start to do so.  They can't wait to veer the subject off any of those topics, as quickly as possible.

If I knew what was wrong, I would fix it.  But, of course, what is wrong is the Gloria is still dead.  I do not have a wife.  I do not have any friends.  As well as being intensely lonely (which is simply a part of grief: one of the symptoms of grief).  And I am not likely to attract friends.  Or a wife.

I have been church shopping.  So far, I cannot say that I am terribly surprised that I haven't found one.  In the times that I have gone church shopping in the past, I haven't found any churches that were particularly useful.  It is an act of purest optimism to continue the attempt.  Churches are insular.  You will perhaps recall Slade's Law of Church Choice: do not attend any church with the word "friendly" in the name or the slogan.  All churches claim to be friendly.  But they're not.  Oh, they are not unfriendly.  They are welcoming.  On a very superficial level.  They are polite.  They say welcome.  They say we are glad you came.  And they do not care whether you live or die.  Not until you prove useful to them.  (Extensively useful.)  (And, I was reminded the day before yesterday, churches do not know how to do deal with single males.)

Obviously something is wrong.  Otherwise I would not be in pain.  Other than the fact that Gloria is still dead, I do not know what, specifically, is wrong.  I do not know what I am doing wrong that ensures that I am still in pain.  Possibly I am guilty of something.  Guilt is what you feel when you have done something wrong.  Perhaps I have done, or am doing, something wrong.  If so, I wish I knew what it was.  But then there is shame.  Shame is what you feel about something you *are*.  So, perhaps it is not that I have done something wrong.  Perhaps I simply *am* wrong.  That would be much harder to fix, even if I could figure out what the problem was.