This week, I’m in Lake Tahoe, Nevada staying at Harvey’s, supposedly a four diamond hotel.  I’m here for a conference for work, along with a couple of hundred other attendees.  Tahoe is beautiful.  The view out my 17th floor window is stunning, tree covered mountains straight ahead with the serene and beautiful Lake Tahoe just to the side.  Downstairs is a collections of restaurants and an expanse of casino floor.

I wish I was home.

First, I’m really here alone.  So many of the others at the conference have spouses or significant others with them.  Barring that, they have others from their office to hang out with.  For reasons not worth going into right now, I don’t get along well with the leadership clique of this group, a group which I am only, professionally, on the fringe of anyway.  Both nights so far, I’ve forced myself to hang out in the hospitality  suite, take down some of the provided white wine and socialize with folks I don’t know.  Alcohol is known as a social lubricant for a reason.

The second reason I feel lonely (the buried lede) is the issue I’m dealing with that I have no one to talk with about.  It started last Saturday night, or more than two years ago, depending on how you look at it.  Saturday, my roommate had some friends over to celebrate two birthdays in the group.  Among the guests, was last guy I really dated.  Although our relationship as a couple was relatively short, the impact it had on me continues.  I didn’t really realize that I was in love with him until well after I had broken it off.  We’ve seen each other on a few occasions.  He has dated two other guys, that I am aware of.  Shortly after he arrived at the party, he asked me to step outside and talk.  I sat on the deacon’s bench on the front porch.  He stood.  A short pause and he said, “Two days ago, I found out I am positive.”  Shit.  A pane of glass in my heart broke.  As we talked, he alternated between a matter-of-fact view and telling me how dirty he felt.  Strangely, my old love for him gripped me.  Of course, he asked me not to tell anyone.  He has chosen to tell several, but I respect his right to control the information.  He told me that he hadn’t cried yet.  Later, I excused myself to the restroom and cried for him.

I don’t know what to do or how to feel.  I know I wish I wasn’t here.