Where the fork am I?

Perhaps the winter weather is getting me down more than it usually does - I haven't been able to get my bike out for almost two weeks - but I find myself in a career quandary, besides being pissed off that I turned 60 last month.

My freelance work has been thin on the ground for the past two months, and to make matters worse, my main source of revenue may go away in a month or two. This is because the manager (let's call her Sheila, she's from Australia) who hired me, likes me, and throws as much work at me as possible (around 20-25 hours per week) will resign soon.

Sheila is leaving as the new Marketing SVP has decided that he doesn't like remote staff, and has demanded all remote marketing management to move to the Texas headquarters or leave. She likes her Georgia home and her husband has a good business going. However, the person who currently works with Sheila will remain as she's already working at corporate HQ, and she really needs me as she can't write newsletters and can't manage her time, either. Sheila has promised to point this out to management upon departure. So we'll see.

I've considered looking for a full-time job, but I would have to move to a big city and I don't want to do that. Alas, the single employer that actually displayed interest in me last month was located in - you guessed it - Cincinnati. So I've begun searching for new sources of freelance, although 100% of my previous two years' work has been provided by people I used to work with.

My spare time hasn't gone to waste, especially as my aunt contracted a particularly bad case of the flu in early December. She required three weeks of feeding, doctoring, monitoring, and several chauffered visits to doctors, ERs and urgent care facilities.

If anyone is wondering about my passion for the flaky cyclist Cincinnati*, I shut him down permanently about a month ago. After another of his invitations, followed by much anticipatory chat until 3-4 days before the date, I realized that this depressing invite/chat/plan/disappear cycle would never change.

I freely admit I cut him tons of slack all last year, as all I wanted was an evening of fetish-driven passion - with or without sex. It's such an adventure, even if just happens once. And for months, I really thought he would eventually deliver. Men tend to like sex and so do I, although the chemistry factor is mandatory and frustratingly rare. But poor Cincinnati kept overthinking it, would become overwhelmed with performance anxiety, and make a fake excuse at the last minute.

The last spin cycle began in early December. He suggested we get together the week after Christmas as he'd be back home from his annual family visit, and would have plenty of PTO left. I agreed, even though I was careful not to get too excited about it. I doubted he'd keep his word. The usual weeks of anticipatory chat followed, and then his messages cooled. 

After asking him via Instagram (our only shared social media) if he'd like to do something New Year's Eve, followed by two days of his silence, I messaged him for the last time.

"Not to worry. I've made other plans."

He responded in a few hours. "Enjoy yourself and be careful."

After that, I ghosted him. I didn't think about it; I just did it. I never even signed into Instagram again, which he'll notice, as we both shared some favorite Instagrammers and always left comments.

It can take a long time to realize that a relationship is hopeless, but once the coin drops, it's like getting a bad tooth removed. One goes from serious to practically zero pain in days.

I rarely think about him, and when I do, I feel sorry for him. He'll never know what erotic adventures he missed out on, and I doubt he'll meet another woman who shares his retro lingerie fetish. 

I've made no real effort to replace Cincinnati except to join the local cycling club, but the weather has made group rides pretty much impossible. I decided to peek at match.com a couple of weeks ago to see if there were any local talent, but there isn't. The locals mostly look like extras from Moonshiners, or they're very, very religious.

(Frank Sinatra has just begun to sing "That's Life" on my Bose Soundtouch/Amazon Music app.)

But not all is bad here. I still love the scenery and I get on well with my aunt. I think I can fix my income problems. And I tried out the local Orangetheory fitness place a few weeks ago, and I liked it very much. If I can improve my finances, I'll be going more often.

* See The Usual Suspects.