Glass of Wine in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

Must…Snap….Out…of this funk. I’m just about to go to bed. To curl up in the fetal position and just sleep it all away. I knew it would be bad when I came home, but I honestly thought I could handle it all. I seriously didn’t know that I’d dip this low.

I want to document the fun things that LDL and I did last weekend before they start to fade from memory, but I’m having a hard time getting this stuff out. I should have known better. Shoulda…

I really want a drink.

There. Large glass of wine.

Freaking out because in my attempt to get myself a job on the west coast, I’ve somehow secured myself an interview in a very midwestern city. And what I mean by “secured”: I’ve talked to them several times and let them book me a flight next Thursday! And what I mean by “very midwestern”: far, far, far, far, far away from either coast.

Honestly, it sounds like a dream position for me. A great career move for a well-known company. But San Francisco, it is not. Not by a longshot (no offense to a certain someone who lives in this town).

And I don’t know how to break the news to LDL after the weekend we just shared together and the talks we’ve had and my feelings about him and about San Fran and…oh…everything.

This wine, she is good.

Now this is strange. Guess who just called? Super T. Remember? The guy in line at the Super Target? Wanted to talk and talk. Sweet guy.

Too bad I hate to chat on the phone.

Know how I got him off the phone? Agreed to go to lunch with him tomorrow. Sheesh. What am I doing?

Know what he told me right before we hung up? That he purposely got in that sloooowww line behind me simply to talk to me. Told him I didn’t believe him. But he said, “Really! Did you even notice how many other lanes were express and were much faster? I really did get in that line so that I could have the chance to meet you. I had no idea that the conversation would take off like it did.”

Cute.

Tomorrow. Noon. Brazilian place.

We shall see.

I just sat here and picked the hell out of my arms. Damn. I am so nervous. The wine, she’s not so soothing.

And I ache. Because I can somehow still feel LDL’s touch and just barely smell him on my skin. And I know that I still love him. He leaves messages, telling me that he’s “cautiously optimistic” about working things out.

He’s putting things on hold for me. But not for long.

The wine, she bites a bit.

Preggo Lori goes to lunch with me today. I tell her everything. The greatness of the trip. My nervousness about the interview. The love I still feel for LDL. My confusion about the choices I need to make. The fact that I have to make choices. I can’t just sleep this shit away. Don’t work like that.

I don’t need to lay this stuff on poor little Lori’s belly. But she smiles. She may be little, she may be younger, and she may be full of baby. But she is a wise one. And she tells me of her past struggles and how hard it was for her to let go of some things and start over and how it’s really not right if you have even little nagging doubts. That “right” is not only correctness, but it is a gut feeling. That I have too many questions, doubts.

Things are not quite right.

And wine won’t make things right. But it’ll sure make me sleepy.

‘Nite.