I’m very very busy these days.

Throughout my two-and-a-half years as an independent consultant, I’ve mostly marked Fridays as work optional. Lately, it’s more like Sundays are work optional. (Eventually, I’d like my weeks to be three days of work, one day of service, and three days of play.)

I sometimes wrap my workday as late as 7. My mind is fried. It’s not as bad as the Bulbstorm days. Not even close. But, after seven or eight max-effort billable hours, I’m spent.

I move to the couch or the patio. I want someone to talk to. I’ll share about my long day. Then, I’ll put it away. I’ll listen to her. It’ll be nice to not hear the words startup or Hubspot or leverage.

I remember how, after a long night at grad school or working a Diamondbacks game, my lady would greet me at home with a Jack and Diet. And we’d sit and talk. That was just nice. Not so much the Jack and Diet. But, ya know, the intimacy and stuff.

Usually when I think about a potential relationship, I envision myself as the rock. In times like these, though, I’d like a lady in my life for support. For sanctuary. For me.

The Rush to Marriage and Marriage-Type Things 

A friend pointed out recently that a lot of my blog posts are about my love life (or lack thereof). Will you still blog when you meet someone, she asked.

Don’t worry, y’all. I don’t seem to be in danger of meeting someone anytime soon. Compared to Washington, the dating landscape in Arizona is a barren wasteland. When I return home and update my location on dating websites every fall, I weep at the sudden lack of choice.

Indeed, the blog will go on.

That said, if the love lives of my peers are any indication, the courtship may not last long when I finally do meet her.

Lately, several people in my social circle – and even women I’ve been into in the last year or two – are like totally suddenly paired off.

Married. Engaged. Pregnant. Whatevz.

It used to be jarring to see ex-flames from high school or college get married. But, we were in our 20s and, for the most part, years had passed.

For whatever reason, that doesn’t seem to be the case any longer. These days, it seems to happen fast.

Why?

Are biological clocks ticking?

Are people more comfortable financially and professionally now that the recession has ended? (Thanks Obama.)

Has experience clarified what we’re looking for? ( I’ve certainly gotten clear about what I want.)

Or, on the other hand, has age made us less discerning because, fuck it, why not?

I don’t know. All I know is people seem to be moving really fast all of a sudden.

My Yoga-Loving Veg-Friendly Could-Be Survivor

Three times this summer as I journeyed to and from Seattle and toward 90 days sober, I woke up from dreams so vivid that I could’ve sworn there was a woman sleeping in my bed (or tent). My heart craved a partner like my body craves Four Peaks nachos after a long day on the trail.

These episodes were a bit different than in the past though. Usually when my subconscious mind thinks girlfriend, it visualizes a specific person – an ex, a flirtation, whatever. Truth be told, there are times when certain Survivor castaways have sneaked in.

More recently, my mind hasn’t had any one template to present. For the first time in a long time, I have a clean canvas. No ex. No flirtation. Nothing.

Instead, there are just images. A red and black flannel. Holding hands in the Subaru. Dark hair in camping braids under a bandana. Yoga pants, obvi.

When I visualize her, I think I could be one of them. I could get swept up and fall fast. I mean, I’d prefer the falling fast to involve only emotional strings. Legal (a marriage license) and biological (a kid) strings are a bit harder to untie.

But, hey, fall fast? Fuck it? Why not? (Sorry Wendy.)

Sure. I could see that happening. I do try to be mindful about the dating stuff. But when my yoga-loving veg-friendly could-be Survivor walks into my life, it may not take long.

I’m ready. She’s out there waiting. Our meeting is truly imminent.

I’ll be there soon, my love. But first I have to finish this work assignment…