The TrueBlue Stages Of Not Dating PT 3

Which brings us to Stage Four: Somewhere around the end of year three the beginning of year four you will begin to hear this question: “Don’t you get lonely?” Yes. You will. And not just once. People will ask you this repeatedly. 
 I’m not sure why. I don’t know if people think that I’m lying or are just trying to wear me down. Yeah. I get lonely. But it’s like every other feeling, it passes.”

Tessa hears a voice from the audience say, “Hunger is a feeling too. It passes, but if you ignore it, it keeps returning. Stronger and more insistent each time it returns.”

She thinks about her answer and grins. “Yes. When my “hunger” is strong enough and the right candy bar, pie, or roast beef sandwich is in front of me I will...”

Tessa stopped typing and wondered if she was using the appropriate analogy for this topic. Her phone buzzed.

That’s good. Keep it going. --Chty.

“How do you know it’s good?” Tessa asked the phone.

Your laptop is connected into our system. We can read what you’re writing after every ‘save.’

“Oh.”

Keep going.

She looks at her audience. “feast. When that happens, I will feast. Unfortunately, I have yet to encounter a meal where both parties, food and eater of food… this is just getting weird, I’ll finish saying it anyway. Where both parties involved have the same interest in one another.

 The ‘No thanks, I’m not hungry at the moment’ explanation works for about a year. Hopefully by then you’ve seen a candy bar that you can’t live without and is as into you as you are into it.

 Stage Five: Stage five is embarrassing. Sometime during year five, people are going to take the time to count how long it has been since you have actually been part of a couple. Eventually someone is going to ask, 'What is wrong with you exactly? Do you have a disease or something?'"

Tessa’s audience goes quiet.

“I have several answers for this question. Sometimes I like to hint that there are voices in my head that tell me to do things that make boyfriends disappear which is kind of fun. A little bit dark, but fun. Saying that I’m only on planet Earth because my alien race is preparing to attack and I’m collecting intel is also a good one. Then there’s short and rude. ‘Yes I have a disease and it’s called taste.’”

"That was a bit harsh." Tessa muttered to herself.

No that was funny. Keep going. --Brad

“When you say that, usually the person that you say it to never speaks to you again so use that answer carefully.

Stage Six: This is the stage when someone asks you, 'Isn’t It Selfish Not To Date?'”

Tessa weaves in and out among the occupied tables and chairs.

“I never understood that question. If anyone ever figures out what is selfish about not dating please let me know.

Here we are at Stage 7: This is when you're asked, ‘What was wrong with you again?’ 
 Because people are deeply curious at this point. Are you going through a major trauma? Are you confused sexually? Have you switched teams? No, No and NO. They have to ask again because there is also always the chance that you lied about not having issues the first time.

Keep in mind that after several years alone, being subjected to uncomfortable questions at regular intervals, watching other people as they meet someone, date them, fall in love and move into a committed relationship you may begin to question if something is actually wrong with you. After all, how can so many friends, loved ones, and random acquaintances be wrong?”

So, is there something wrong with you? Chrty texted. JK

You’d better be. 
 

“The honest truth about being single for over five years...”

“It sounds more like seven.” A voice calls out.

“...the truth is that there is good and there is bad. There are fun times and dark days. Some days you may find yourself asking, 'Why not me? Why not right now?' On other days you will feel like you’re still looking for the roast beef sandwich that...hits the spot. The fact is, that as long as you’re okay with things the way that they are, then they're okay. You’re okay. Everything is okay.
Don't worry. Eventually...you’ll get that sandwich.

Remember, it’s okay to enjoy what you’ve got right now. Someday soon there will be probably be snoring in your ear at two in the morning when all you want is silence so you can sleep.
   For the moment, Amant Autem, love the now, folks. Love the now.”

Nice work Tessa! --Chrty

Run a spell check and send it as a secure e-mail. We’ll take it from here. --Brad.

(Cough-cough) --Chrty.

Oh and...nice work--Brad.

Tessa did as instructed then she sat back on the couch, took a moment, and looked around her apartment. Her eyes stopped at one of her favorite pictures. An old tournament photo from her father’s college days. She leaned into the picture and said, “They liked it Dad. They liked my story.” The image in the picture moved. She watched as her father inhaled briefly, smoke seeped out of each nostril, joining ends to create the shape of a heart. Tessa smiled. “I love you too Dad. Hug Mom for me.”

The TrueBlue Stages Of Not Dating PT 2

Don’t write that lonely, single girl crap. I hate that. Oh and Brad will love the piece if you make it funny.

-- Chty

Tessa looked at the clock. Four pm. "I guess I’ll just write something and hope that it can be carved into something better." She muttered to herself.

“So, why are you single?”

Everyone has heard that question at one time in their lives or another.

I want to ask, why?

Why do single people have to explain why they’re single if married people don’t have to explain why they’re married?

It’s such a common question. But a rude one that our society has accepted as okay.

No, No, NO! That is not funny. At all.

Tessa had been single for seven years. In 2019, it would be eight. After the first three to five years of explaining her single status it had become tiring. She noticed that after the first five years, people had started to wonder what was wrong with her because she had been single for so long. The questions became more frequent and more probing all of the time.

Her phone buzzed again.

One trick for writing a good humor piece is to write it like a monologue, like you’re speaking in a comedy club or telling a group of friends a funny story.

-- Chty

Tessa texted back a half-hearted: Thnx.

Tessa tried to picture herself in a comedy club. She’d never been to one so she decided to picture her cousin Samurai’s bar and grill. It was small and located in a remote village.
  Her cousin, Samurai, loved the family but he also believed that absence made the heart grow fonder. He also never played well with others.

Winters were long in the village. When the nights got too long people would hang out at Samurai’s. They would take turns standing in the center of the room and entertain each other. Tessa closed her eyes and pictured them in her mind. She remembered musicians, poets, jugglers, conjurers. There was a lady wearing unusually marked robes that called herself, “The Enchantress of Lost Species.” The lost species were always invisible. No one could see them but the enchantress herself.

A smile that began in Tessa’s eyes found its way to her lips and she began scribbling furiously. Within moments, she could see herself standing in the middle of Samurai’s bar.

She looks around the darkened room. She can make out shapes, figures. Not many faces, she had not been to Cousin Samurai’s since she was a young girl. “Hi. My name is Tessa. Tessa TrueBlue.”

Cousin Samurai grumbles from behind the bar. Apparently the TrueBlue legend has traveled to even the furthest reaches of her homeland. It was probably Samurai who had told them the tale. She ignores it and continues.

“How many of you here tonight are single?” Tessa looks around the room. About a third of them raise their hands. Most of them are ogres. Understandable. Ogres don’t generally play well with others either.

“Me too.” She smiles. “I have been single for about six years now.” Tessa focuses on a gentleman sitting close to the bar. “How long have you been single?” She asks. She puts a hand to her ear and pretends to strain to hear the answer. “Two years? Two months.”

The gentleman corrects her.

“Two weeks.” She nods. “Rookie.” She says with a grin. “Wait until you’ve been single for as long as I have.”

The gentleman nods, adjusting his cravat. She recognizes him as a member of the High Council. Tessa remembers a gentleman used to stop by Samurai’s regularly when traveling from home to the capital city, Kaleidoscope, he loved...the chili.

Tessa thought for a moment, looked at the audience, then turned back to the gentleman. “No, wait...I take it back. I don’t want you to be alone this long.”

She can hear “What’s so bad about it?” echo throughout the room. A member of the audience wants to know. She looks around the room to find the source of the question and sees an attractive woman sitting in the back. The gentleman turns to look at the woman and smiles. Good for him.

“Not too much is bad about it. Dealing with difficult stuff of life with no one to lean on (family is wonderful but  sometimes they're not the same) can be hard,  I get tired of deciding what to cook for dinner all of the time. When the long and cold winter nights start dragging on too long for too many weeks that’s a bear. Mostly...I’m okay with it. Then someone points it out to me and wants to talk about it. Someone always wants to talk about it don’t they?”

Some of the members of the audience nod in agreement.

“There is a process that one goes through during a long stretch of time alone. Tonight, I’m going to share it with all of you. People’s questions have changed the longer that I have been single.  Okay, I admit it, my answers have changed over the years too. Here it is. What I like to call, ‘The Stages of Not Dating’. These explanations for not dating work for varying periods of time depending on how many people you have asking you questions.

Stage 1: I Got Burned. My ex-really broke my heart.

That explanation can work for up to two years for some people. Sometimes it takes longer to get over these things.

Stage 2: I’m Taking Time Off From Dating To Get To Know Myself. 
If you’re lucky, most people don’t even notice that you never started dating again and don't stop to ask how you can need a break from something that you haven't actually been doing.

Getting to know yourself is a good thing. It can be a wonderful time. You will get to know yourself, really well. Unfortunately, you also get a freakishly clear picture of what you don’t want in a mate. You could find yourself seeing these faults in everyone who is attractive to you.

Stage 3: I’m Enjoying Living On My Own.

Enjoying life as a single person is a natural next step after getting to know yourself. There are many good aspects to living on your own. If you have a lot of close family and friends you could stay in stage three for an extended period of time.

But, even the happiest, most social person is going to run into that point where loved ones start to wonder about you. 
If you’re not the most social person, all too soon they begin to question how you can be having so much fun...alone. There seems to be some unwritten rule somewhere that a person is only allowed to have so much fun by themselves. I wish someone had told me that earlier.  I would have paced myself.

The TrueBlue Stages Of Not Dating PT 1

                                                      

         The Stages Of Not Dating And How To Explain It To Family And Friends

                                                        By

                                                Tessa TrueBlue

(Brad’s first note read) Title Too Long

When one has not dated for a while, parties and family gatherings can become quite uncomfortable. A regular day at the office can feel more like a dating site interview than a job.

(Brad’s other note stated) Story too detached. Make more personal.

Tessa looked at the lines running through her copy and sighed. She looked at the clock.

“He didn’t like it.” Tessa’s co-worker, Charity commented. “It’s nearly two. You’d better get cracking if you want to make tomorrow’s edition.”

“I wrote this piece the same way that I write everything. It’s my style.”

Charity shook her head. “Not this time lil’ sis.” Charity pointed to Brad’s comment. “Make it more personal.”

“Why would he hire me to work the city desk and then turn around and have me write a personal

interest piece?”

Jed, one of the sports reporters, heard her and stopped to put his two cents in. “Relax.” He said with a smile. “The boss is just testing you out, seeing how flexible you are. You know, finding out if he can count on you to fill in on a different story if there’s a gap, that sort of thing.” Jed continues his trek to the break room.

“Don’t worry Tessa. The boss has everyone do at least one piece like this.” Charity reassured Tessa. “It’s important that he get as much information as he can regarding the new people.”

Jed reemerged from the break room just in time to nod in agreement.

“Besides this article is a great way for him to decide what his chances are with you.”

Tessa’s mouth went dry and she paled.

Jed laughed and looked at Tessa. “Not true. She’s kidding. Charity says that to all the newbies.”

“Remember that guy last summer?” She asked Jed.

“He sat across from me.” Jed recounted. “He heard the same thing from someone. I don’t know who. The next day, Brad told him to go and cover the bridal show. I remember watching him sitting at his desk, he lowered his head. Then he muttered for a bit, quietly wrote “I quit” in his notebook, set his pen down on top of it, stood up, and walked out.”

“He never even called in for his paycheck did he?” Charity asked.

“I don’t believe that he did.”

“I have never even written a personal essay.” Tessa announced. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Tessa felt the silence spread. She knew instantly that she had done it again. She had shared too much. Been too honest. This is going to be like The Expulsion all over again, she thought.

Jed looked at Charity, mouthed the word ‘Oops’ and quietly returned to his seat.

“It’s not that bad really. I’ll help you. There are some great benefits to working here.” Charity says. “For instance, did you know that you can work from home?”

Tessa shook her head.

“You can. Your friend Charity is going to buy you some time. Watch and learn, that way you can help the next newbie.”

Tessa nodded.

Charity lifted her head and yelled across the newsroom. “Brad! Tessa’s got the black plague! She’s gonna work from home!”

“She looked okay this morning!” He yelled back.

“She came home from vacation right before she started here.”

“She didn’t leave the country did she?” He called.

Charity looked at Tessa.

“I went home to see my folks.”

“Where are you from?” Charity asked.

Tessa paled and chose ambiguity, knowing that she could not begin to explain her homeland to any full blooded human. “Not from around here.”

“Why does anyone take a vacation? So they can leave the country!” Charity nudged her with an elbow. “Cough” she mouthed.

Tessa coughed.

“More, harder.”

Tessa coughed more, her face reddened at the effort.

“Yeah. Okay. Send her home.” Brad yelled. “Make sure she has the link to upload her story when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Charity looked back at Tessa. “Okay you’re out of here until tomorrow. Pack up the laptop, go home, get comfortable, and put in your two cents about being a single lady in 2018. It needs to be uploaded by one a.m. and that’s a ‘my internet went down and there was a city wide black out excuse,’ keep in mind that people will look at you with disapproval until someone else screws up if you do get your story in that late.” Charity grabbed a sheet off of Tessa’s notepad and scribbled the needed link down. “If you aren’t uploaded by 11 pm call me. I’ll make sure you get the story in on time. Give me your phone.” She tapped quickly on the keys. “I’m listed in your phone. Now go.”

Tessa nodded. “Thank you.” She said as she left the newsroom, attempting to look appropriately unhealthy. She coughed a couple more times on her way out the door.

“Isn’t she out of here yet?” Brad called. “Someone get that desk disinfected. Now!”

Tessa sat down on the couch with her laptop after a quick shower. She looked at the screen. The cursor blinked on and off, encouraging her, urging her forward into her article. Eventually, taunting her.

Maybe I’ll do some stream of consciousness brainstorming to start.

Single

Not married

Not dating

Alone

Tired

Happy

Only watching movies that you want to on a Friday night

No one to argue with

No one to listen to

No one to snuggle

No one to cuddle on cold nights

No dirty stuff laying around everywhere

No one to cook for

No one to be nice to

No one to love

Her phone buzzed as she wrote. It was from Charity.

VIN (a.k.a. "Untitled") PT 8

When I began writing this story, I thought that I knew what the end of it would look like. Writers always do. We all think that we are the captain of our ships. Mighty creators. Not usually.

Usually we are the pale, tired, slobs that get to run around behind those characters and write down what they do.

As it turns out, Vin had her own story to tell and Earnest who was supposed to have the equivalent of a walk-on in a film kept popping up. I would say like a bad penny but Earnest is not a bad penny. He never has been one so saying that would not only be untrue but be decidedly unladylike. Mom really emphasized the being a lady thing and the independence thing and the encouragement of intellectual thought thing. We didn’t talk about run on sentences enough apparently or it never sunk in. Take your pick.

At the end of the day, this was Vin’s story and I was just the pale slob following her. She is a character that I cannot ever imagine forgetting. I wish her and Earnest all the best. They deserve it.

--Most Sincerely HR Apostos

                                         For Vin and Earnest

“It sounds like a warning.”

“It does.” Hardy responds without looking up from his book.

“When did I write it?”

“Last week. Your husband had died, you were having a bad day.”

“I had a husband?” I ask.

“You did.”
 I study the antique clock that sits on the desk for a moment. “How old was I?”

“When?”

“When I wrote this?”

“I’m not the best judge of a woman’s age.”

I stare at Hardy until he looks up from his book.

“You are a handsome woman in your golden years. Cranky at times, but quite handsome.”

I look around. “Time isn’t continuous here?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“That makes two of us.”

“You’ll have to use it in a story some day that way you can figure it out.” He says with a grin.

“What do I do now that I’ve seen the warning?” I ask.

“Whatever you like. It is all in your head, my dear.”

“That isn’t the most helpful answer.”

“I know.” Hardy admits and returns to his novel.

“What happens if I heed my warning?” I ask. “To my body? To my stuff?”

“I should think that someone will find you. You will be taken where you can be cared for.” Hardy suggests.

“I’ll be put away.” I have a strong urge to push myself out of the chair and run through the door as fast as my legs will carry me. That would be an immediate response. An emotional one. My warning was so...I sit back in the chair and think, swiveling back and forth. Back and forth.

After several minutes Hardy looks up from his book, “Are you staying?” He asks.

“No.”

“Are you going?”

“No.”

He looks at me. I can tell that he doesn’t quite know how to respond to my ambiguity.

“Annoying, isn’t it?” I ask.

“It is.” He admits with a smile.

After I pass several minutes in my anxiety and on the fringes of borderline panic, he speaks. “You know Vin, every point of view has at least one, if not several other angles.”

“Because any one life can take several different paths.” I continue. “I take it we’re talking destiny as opposed to free will?”

“It is true,” Hardy says, “that there are many ways to look at the path that one’s future can take...and the free will thing.”

“So the Vin that wrote this may not be the Vin that I become?”

As usual Hardy does not give me a definitive answer. “It will be a culmination of your choices that will lead you to your future.”

“There are no guarantees?”

“Very good.” He says.

I watch the fire for a bit. “Hardy...did I leave any others?”

He looks up from Don Quixote.

“Notes? In this room?”

“This is your room. Only you would know my dear.”

I begin searching the desk for more notes. Another clue. Another bread crumb something that will help propel me forward, back to Earnest, the gazebo, the difficult changes that lay before me.

“Nothing?” Hardy asks after I make disagreeable noises. As well as muttering, opening, and closing drawers. I check the clocks, a box on the fireplace mantel, the piled up newspapers from years past. There is only one place left to look. The bookshelf.

“A daunting task.” Hardy says from his seat.

I turn and look at him. “Unless there’s something else that I don’t know I’ve got nothing but time.” I return to the books and the hunt for a glimmer of hope among the stacks. “Washington, Wells, Wilde.” My finger slows at Oscar Wilde. There’s something here...then I see it. The Importance of Being Ernest. “Does Earnest have anything to do with this?” I call behind me.

“I cannot divulge the future.”

“Don’t tell me there are inter-dimensional rules or something.”

“No, you made me promise not to.” He says with a chuckle. “Besides it’s fun watching you look.”

I glare at Hardy.

“I made a promise.” He says.

I continue glaring. He returns to his book.

“If you wanted to know these things you wouldn’t have made me promise.”

“What about free will?”

“This is your journey. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Deciding against checking The Importance of Being Ernest, I run my fingers along the top of each page feeling for an irregularity, before I move on. About twenty pages before the back cover, I feel something. It’s thicker than the rest of the surface, stiffer too. My hand stops moving and I lift the book from its place on the shelf. There it is. An old note card with a picture of Earnest Hemingway on it. There’s a quote that reads, “Why, darling, I don't live at all when I'm not with you.” – A Farewell To Arms. I turn it over. A note is written on the back:

Yes, a life of chasing material possessions, living for accomplishments, waiting for things or people that never come will ruin your life because needing that next thing to complete your life becomes a way of life. You break your own heart over and over again. Not all of reality is bad. - – Lve Earnest P.S. I’ll be right back.

I return to the fireside and the leather chairs with the card in my hand. “It’s Earnest.” I say handing the note card to Hardy.

“Well what do you know?” He says with a smile. “How about that.”

“You knew the whole time.”

“If I gave you the answer that wouldn’t have been much fun.” He says.

“Why does he keep disappearing?” I ask.

“You’re never going to find out hanging around here.”

I smile and head for the doorway. I see the desk. The parchment sitting on the desk. The warning note. I stop and look at Hardy. “I’m going to lose him aren’t I?”

“You might.”

I try to toss the feeling away but I can’t seem to take the next step.

“Don’t.” Hardy says. “Don’t give up a lifetime of good times to avoid a single bad one. You will never forgive yourself.”

“You’ve seen what happens if I stay.”

“I’ve been here for a while my dear. This future that you’re headed for...it’s my favorite.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I look at Hardy. “This had better be a good one.”

“It is my dear. It is.”

“Here goes nothing.” I exit the room and open my eyes to find Earnest staring at me. His face is pale.

“Vin?”

It takes me a minute to find my voice, “Yeah.”

“You’re back?”

“I’m back.”

Earnest smiles.

Sirens are going off in the distance. “What’s that sound?” I ask.

“An ambulance. Your roommate Kelly called a couple of minutes ago. She freaked out when I told her why you weren’t answering your own phone.”

“She called an ambulance?”

“I’m surprised she didn’t call a S.W.A.T. team.”

I look around.

“Tulio should be here any second to kill me.”

I smile.

“Tulio wouldn’t harm a fly. He might muss your hair while trying to kick your ass but only because Kelly would kick his ass if he didn’t at least rough you up a little bit.”

“Oh. That’s good to know.”

“You were gone a long time.” Earnest says. “What brought you back?”

“You. I found a note in the room from you.”

“From me?”

I recited the note to him.

“I began talking to you when I started to get worried. Those were almost my exact words.”

“It helped. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Voices are coming closer to the gazebo at an alarming rate. Earnest and I both watch as ambulance attendants and a stretcher race towards us.

“Shall we let these gentlemen know that you’re okay?” He asks.

“Yes. Let’s do that.”

“I hope that you have a good story for them.” Earnest says.

“I don’t know what to tell them. I’ve been a little bit busy. You’re the mysterious stranger shouldn’t you be able to come up with something quickly?”

“You’re the writer.”

I look at Earnest. “Mysterious stranger.”

“Not a Spaniard.” He counters.

“Are you going to use that excuse for everything?”