Technological Flight Risks

Technological Flight Risks

Tonight, I have a couple of hours before a draft of my research methodology and design are due for review as a component of my prospectus. Tonight, I really should not have a case of the procrastinations, but I am just. not. productive. I can’t seem to pull my wits together to knock out what should have been a fairly short document – 1400 words. And it’s not just tonight. I had last week, and this past weekend, too.

But, my days and nights have been spent in happy hour mode, hiking mode, pool party mode, Balanchine mode, mimosa mood, cheap pedicure mode, but not laundry mode or productivity mode or cleaning the condo mode. I really wasn’t into date or flirt mode, and I definitely had the opportunity for both. According to Jenny, a cute DJ by night/401k-holding, mutual fund business professional by day was trying to flirt with me at Trini’s brunch party, but I had my sunburned head so far up my bootie that I didn’t even notice. And, I usually have great flirtation mojo. So, shit, even that is wonky.

While hiking Camelback Mountain Saturday morning with Andrea I verbally vomited up and back down the mountain about my misery. Hard to believe it’s already a month since my glow-y, shimmery bubble of happiness popped over partially eaten sushi, but, yup – as of today, 30 days — that should have been plenty of time for an effective hetox. Should have been. Should. Should. Shit.

Andrea and I talked men and our battle scars. And, we celebrated that I had enough sense to proactively take measures to secure my flight risk. Flight risks, btw, are THOSE men whom I know I should not have easy access to contact for the event that I get a little too tipsy, or too sappy, or too bored, or just feel the need to too morbidly humiliate myself in front the dude, knowing I will never have the outcome I want, I will not end up sounding clever or put together or dealing so remarkably man-eater-style well in the wake of the breakup. Usually this is my most recent boyfriend or fellow I was dating. I’m talking the pathetic dial and hang up or sending of a loser-ish text message or any other way that radiation-emitting technology can get one into trouble… flight risk. Ugh! BUT — I am not the only non-crazy, crazy woman who drives herself crazy forcing herself to not get crazy on a would-be hapless man if she didn’t control herself better.

On our way up the mountain we discussed the masochism of facebook, and how even “hiding” someone’s profile doesn’t save one from herself, and how the logical argument is that, based on what very little information I know, with someone not inclined to call me anymore – which pretty much assures then a total absence of connectedness, when to pull the trigger on the facebook page? Because, really, it’s not as though I will find anything on there that will ever make me happy. Like I really want to see him popping on a news feed that he’s out at a restaurant with another woman! Like I want to see a check-in at a neighborhood spot and then mentally plan to not go there because I imagine he could be there with a woman, and then like I really want to think of him sharing any meal or conversation with any other woman other than a lesbian who is not interested in dating a near 40 year old, divorced father who argues for a living?! But then, Guy apparently maintains I broke up with him via my blog (super ouch, considering he told me long ago he would stop reading the blog… but then in hindsight I can absolutely see that he would have totally gone straight to my blog to find out what was in my mind because we weren’t talking to each other, dumb call on that one, Jennifer), and I maintain he broke up with me via a text… and Andrea stopped in her tracks, having hauled herself up a boulder, turned and pointed to me, and good-naturedly laughed at the completely messed up ridiculousness and the ironic humor of technology, something that makes so many aspects of my life efficient and easier, makes my love life a lumpy mess resembling not well-mixed pancake batter or something of that like. Bland tasting, lumpy, drippy, and lacking in any exciting color… for this time being. Vomit lumpy pancake batter! I have homework to do that is due! And I’m going to Montana Thursday, and if I don’t get this design draft submitted, my bum won’t be traveling anywhere again because the cost of the retake will wipe out my travel budget for the next year. It’s exhausting.

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