Two hours ago, I was sitting in the laundry room of a hotel I'm staying at when I got the sudden urge to write. I can't tell you how many times I have written something on blogspot just to delete the whole thing because I thought it sounded like a bunch of rubbish. But tonight, my head was spinning with ideas and thoughts and questions. I sat there, dissecting a conversation I had earlier this evening with one of the guys from the team I work for. For the past couple of days I've been trying to wrap my head around something I couldn't quite understand and I needed some advice. I turned to him for his opinion on a situation, and he gave me explanations that I wasn't expecting to hear, but definitely gave me insight on the subject on hand.
This time last year, I was working at a dead end job while pinning over the one that got away and spending all my free time with someone I couldn't even hold a serious conversation with; replacing the emptiness I felt with what I guess you could call a filler.
Fast forward to the present: I got my foot in the door of the bicycle industry by helping out a local men's elite cycling team; something I've been wanting to do that has now become my main priority for the past couple of months. I haven't really had time to think of anything that isn't cycling related. So when something finally appears in front of me that I've indirectly ignored; I guess you can say I've become... Well, socially retarded.
I knew this situation was going to happen, that it was just a matter of time that I would have to confront it face to face. I just didn't realize how hard it was going to be. You can't plan these sorts of things. So when it finally does happen, you're just a puddle of goo with a mouth that's spilling verbal vomit onto the feet of onlookers.
I racked my brain over and over again this evening, sitting on top of the dryer and just trying to think of things to say. There's nothing you really can say or do, but it's hard to go with the flow when you're nervous and all you can think about is how you have to drive 30 miles to stand in the rain and hand off a bag of food and water bottles to guys in lycra. It's like you're trying to focus on something important but there's the devil on you shoulder, hitting you on the side of your head with a pick ax, calling you a pussy for making excuses on why you can't confront this seemingly harmless situation.
And that's all it is, is a harmless situation. I'm usually not a scared bitch when it comes to these sorts of things. I always hated beating around the bush, but I guess you can say I'm scared because I don't want to deal with something that could possibly get in the way of what I have going for myself, something that I've tried so hard to achieve.