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I flew to Boston yesterday. Hit turbulence over Denver and felt queasy the entire second leg of the flight. It didn't help I was in the very back of the plane, and they'd cranked the heat up back there. Waiting to leave the plane at the end took forever - one of those fun times when I sit there and silently argue with my stomach. No, you're not queasy. Trust me. You'll be fine. We'll be off soon. Just hold on a little bit longer. I swear, it won't be much more.
Made it to my hotel. It's a nice hotel. What is there to say about it? It's a hotel. When you travel a lot, they all start to look the same. A bed. A desk. A chair that adjusts - if I'm lucky. Try being short and sitting in a desk chair built for tall men. Typing with my hands up around my shoulders. Sigh.
Today was long. It went fast - at least at the beginning, but after the conference calls that stretched on til late, it felt like tiime was dragging. At the very least, being in the meetings and conference calls kept my mind off of what today was. And I did have fun after work, doing dinner with my coworker, finding a shopping mall, pondering different colors of really adorable boots, searching futily for somewhere that was open that might sell a network hub, discovering parts of New Hampshire that perhaps we really didn't want to be wandering around at night.
It's pathetic, I suppose. I love being single. I really do. So why is it that this one stupid day of the year I end up feeling so darn sorry for myself? It stinks. I really thought I'd be able to get past it this year, but no. I was online chatting to friends and people were mentioning what they'd done with their significant others, and it crept up on me. That pesky little voice in my head that loves to point out all my problems and faults and flaws and won't go away.
It's almost over though. Today, that is. Tomorrow things will go back to being happy and normal. It always works out this way.