Don’t talk to me today. I refuse to answer the telephone anymore because it seems that each time I answer the telephone, my horribly, shoddily laid plans are thrown into disarray.

I’ve been looking into moving to Seattle for a few weeks now. Looking into housing, neighborhoods, Starbucks locations, potential shelters, highway overpasses, cardboard box recyclers, etc. I was all set to sell all of my belongings, drive to Seattle, drop what I brought into a storage locker for a while, then head to Vancouver for a few weeks before returning to Seattle and finding a new job earning minimum wage, taking my career into a new direction.

Then.

Then.

Then, I received a call, out of the blue from a firm (a large multi-national firm, dream-job, massive pay raise, all that good stuff) about a position in San Diego, CA. With this information, I began to look south, for housing, neighborhoods, muscle daddies, Starbucks, high-end furniture shops, etc. I had planned my trip west with a stop in St. Louis to say hello/goodbye to a few people before heading to Tucson to say hello/goodbye to the beautiful, talented, sexy, sweet, adorable Homer, then to Phoenix for a little visit with John, my beloved web designer and his partner, and my dear friend Jason. After wearing out my welcome there, it would be off to Los Angeles The Valley to stay with TLBO for a few days on my way to San Diego.

Then.

Then.

Then, I receive a telephone call canceling the meeting from the person I was meeting about the San Diego position. Sad, upset, angry, unsure and lost, I escaped into a night filled with alcohol, fantastic food and retail therapy to right myself and feel better. Thanks Tom.

Then.

Then.

Then, I receive a call from a customer. A very good customer. This customer has increased business considerably in the last two months, perhaps allowing me to actually meet my quota for the first time in two years. Today’s call was to inform me that they would like me to bid on a few small aircraft charters. Like 3 DC-9’s a week from Michigan to Oakland, CA. Three planes a week, at roughly $80,000 each. My numbers would go thru the roof with this and make any move to the west coast a complete idiotic move.

So now I’m lost.

Am I driving to the Beautiful Pacific North West, the magnificent sunny Southern California, or a new apartment here in the alternating cold/humid closed-minded Midwest?

What is a boy to do?