Travel became a regular part of my job over six years ago. For many years I traveled three weeks a month. Now I only hit the road for work every two months or so.
At first, the travel is great. Each city is a new place with things to see. San Fran, Vegas, Chicago, LA, San Diego, NYC, Philly, DC, Houston, Dallas, City, City and one more city. Eventually they start to stream into each other.
You find yourself looking for the button for the 28th floor in a 15-floor hotel because your room last week was 2835. You find yourself becoming obsessive about your routines for packing, unpacking, settling into your hotel room, setting up your bathroom because you find comfort in a routine when you live out of a suitcase. You find that all hotel restaurants suck.
You find hotel bars are, by far, the most depressing places on the planet. You find that hotel bars are where bad bartenders go to die. You find that hotel bars are filled with nomadic souls searching to either hook-up, connect or desperately hoping to be left alone in their numbing.
What slowly starts happening is you find yourself spending more and more time in your hotel room. You find yourself spending more time watching limited hotel channel choices or spank-o-vision. You read a lot of books.
So it is Friday night. I am in my hotel room. I've not left the hotel in 30+ hours. I ate alone, I've read every blog on my blogroll. IT IS FUCKING FRIDAY NIGHT! Damnit. I want to go home and I want my girl there.
I will be home tomorrow night but my house will be empty.
As kickers... I get to go to the IRS for an audit on Tuesday and my Dad is not talking to me because he is pissed about something I should be pissed at him about. (I am not even sure that sentance makes sense.)
It is almost 9pm and A*'s free minutes start then. She will be calling me for another Friday night phone date. Thank God for her. I need some cheering up right now.
Your Uncle Hofzinser thinks he's lucky to have you and he doesn't appreciate you as much as he should.