Slow Start in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Frustrating. It’s already mid-January, the start of a sparkly new year where I was going to write and run my fanny off, and what have I done? ONE single entry and…not much running. And no closer in my resolutions (perhaps because they are not written yet?).

I’m in New York. On one of two BIG kick-off trips that I do per year. I’m with a semi-big team and my nights aren’t really my own. I have a huge report to write up tonight, and a meeting at 7:30 tomorrow morning, so what better time to write an entry than at 10:00PM, right?

I also had two glasses of wine with dinner (yes, Boss Party Pants is in da house), and I don’t feel like working.

It’s supposed to get super-duper cold tomorrow, but then again it was supposed to be cold all week. I’m waiting for it. It’s also supposed to dump a bunch of snow right before I’m to hop a plane back home, so I’m really hoping that I get home.

I feel like my whole life is on hold right now, and that sucks, because I really want to be living my life. Now. Today. Immediately.

I talked on the phone to EXMS tonight, and I owe a phone call to someone new (I haven’t written about yet because I’m not sure what to do/think about him). I am so ambivalent about “love” these days, and it really has me discouraged. You know, it sucks so much to think that I’ll never be the same and I’ll never look at “love” in the same way ever again.

I suppose that CAN be a good thing, right? I mean, let’s think positively here. I hope to never go through what I went through in 2008…ever….again. I was obviously doing something wrong. I want to do it right.

But it’s weird, because I’ve never felt so yucky about the opposite sex. Ever.

This is what I mean about getting my mojo back. It is seriously out of wack. I’ve always been boy-crazy, right? You know me. And if you don’t, read my entries a few years back. That will explain a LOT.

Which is better? To be having all kinds of lusty booty-calls and random escapades (me—pre EXMS) or to be so disinterested and not really giving a shit about it all (me—today). Don’t answer that question. It is a ridiculous question.

I am a little nervous at this point. In the past, breakups meant freedom to flirt and date and make out and even have the occasional fling.

It meant that on my trips to New York I was out and about and ALWAYS meeting new people. Now, I’d rather be holed up in my hotel room with the TV and my snuggly comforter and the fuzzy robe.

I’m tired.

I need to make a phone call. Then I need to get my report done. Then I need to go to bed, dream good dreams, get up, run, attend my meetings, and do it all over again.

It’s an OK plan for right now. But I’m also really starting to itch for a change.

Itching is as good a sensation as any, right? At least I’m feeling something.

Off I go.