Ruminating
I had sex in a public bathroom of a luxury hotel last week.
Now that I have gotten that part out of the way, I have to do the inevitable whining or crying about how desperately terrible my life is. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. However, it seems amazingly incongruent to start out a letter of complaint with a description of a sex act. Perhaps sex in a public place should now be called a Larry Craig. Anywho. Let's back up by at least two weeks.
I broke up with E. on a Monday. The body of our lifeless relationship was just as cold as the leftovers she had attempted to make for dinner (the poor girl was not a cook). After dinner and seeing her bury her face in pillows, I brought up the question of our happiness together. She said it wasn't working, I agreed, she cried briefly, and I left. I am certain this happened on a Monday, seeing as how I was completely out of groceries for the week. Monday is the absolute latest I can shop for groceries without having to throw away perfectly okay produce and the like when I leave for the trip on Sunday. Being thrifty and stubborn, I scavenge for food the whole week. This is a skill which I picked up while living in the nicest falling apart house on earth. A week of very poor dining passes. I look at the personals, being the scummy person I am. My feelings of scumminess are partially offset based on the fact that E. had been looking as well, only before the end of our relationship. Nothing of interest, and I am off for a week up north.
Business travel is one of my least favorite forms of travel. It is like being tethered to a post, with your cord allowing you to just reach the border of something nice. Instead of blowing off the work aspect and traveling, I throw my heart into networking. Networking is one of the most onerous tasks I know of; sucking energy from me (foreshadowing, eh?) I do my best. Low and behold, my best is pretty good. I meet some people, lots of people. I am sociable. I also meet people from my company I never knew existed. Pretty interesting. This provides a good segue to the above listed point.
One of these Never Met Befores, named H., was at the conference. After multiple drinks out at some bar (this is what professionals do, drink) I walk the lady home and we wind up fooling around in a public street. The next day, we meet and sneak into a public restroom where she proceeds to suck the something out of me. This is the Larry Craig and sucking energy alluded to above. The following day, a similar quick encounter in her hotel room. Its good. Real good. Extremely fucking good to be with someone enthusiastic about sex. However, I have nothing for her besides sex, and I would have some major issues fucking her in our home turf.
So I fly home and sit here. Alone, again. My life sucks. It is amazing how mundane life feels for me, how little pleasure I receive from my daily living, even as some of the most amazing things happen to and around me. I cannot begin to explain what right I have to raise a voice of complaint, yet somehow I do this on a regular basis. Pardon me.
Now that I have gotten that part out of the way, I have to do the inevitable whining or crying about how desperately terrible my life is. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't. However, it seems amazingly incongruent to start out a letter of complaint with a description of a sex act. Perhaps sex in a public place should now be called a Larry Craig. Anywho. Let's back up by at least two weeks.
I broke up with E. on a Monday. The body of our lifeless relationship was just as cold as the leftovers she had attempted to make for dinner (the poor girl was not a cook). After dinner and seeing her bury her face in pillows, I brought up the question of our happiness together. She said it wasn't working, I agreed, she cried briefly, and I left. I am certain this happened on a Monday, seeing as how I was completely out of groceries for the week. Monday is the absolute latest I can shop for groceries without having to throw away perfectly okay produce and the like when I leave for the trip on Sunday. Being thrifty and stubborn, I scavenge for food the whole week. This is a skill which I picked up while living in the nicest falling apart house on earth. A week of very poor dining passes. I look at the personals, being the scummy person I am. My feelings of scumminess are partially offset based on the fact that E. had been looking as well, only before the end of our relationship. Nothing of interest, and I am off for a week up north.
Business travel is one of my least favorite forms of travel. It is like being tethered to a post, with your cord allowing you to just reach the border of something nice. Instead of blowing off the work aspect and traveling, I throw my heart into networking. Networking is one of the most onerous tasks I know of; sucking energy from me (foreshadowing, eh?) I do my best. Low and behold, my best is pretty good. I meet some people, lots of people. I am sociable. I also meet people from my company I never knew existed. Pretty interesting. This provides a good segue to the above listed point.
One of these Never Met Befores, named H., was at the conference. After multiple drinks out at some bar (this is what professionals do, drink) I walk the lady home and we wind up fooling around in a public street. The next day, we meet and sneak into a public restroom where she proceeds to suck the something out of me. This is the Larry Craig and sucking energy alluded to above. The following day, a similar quick encounter in her hotel room. Its good. Real good. Extremely fucking good to be with someone enthusiastic about sex. However, I have nothing for her besides sex, and I would have some major issues fucking her in our home turf.
So I fly home and sit here. Alone, again. My life sucks. It is amazing how mundane life feels for me, how little pleasure I receive from my daily living, even as some of the most amazing things happen to and around me. I cannot begin to explain what right I have to raise a voice of complaint, yet somehow I do this on a regular basis. Pardon me.