I confess
I'm sure you noticed the signs. I seemed distant. Many mornings you'd wake up and I wouldn't be here. Or you'd check in just before bed and I wasn't in my office. Oh, I tidied up a bit. A little here and there so you'd not suspect I hadn't slept at home.
I know you noticed I made a couple of changes to my wardrobe. You looked askance at that little asymmetrical number I sported a few days back. But you didn't say anything. You're not one to point out my flaws.
And I've always loved you for that.
But this can't go on. I've just been leaving little notes. Barely post-its. And I haven't mentioned "him" in weeks. To tell the truth, the last I heard he was teaching. I'm sure some co-ed with righteous indignation is asking him "why?" right now as I'm typing. That's fine. She can have his half-baked truths and those handles which are solely meant to be flown off of.
It's Lance's fault. He's the one that threw open the curtains and froze the elephant right in the middle of the room. Neighbors peering in. Questions asked.
"Didn't you used to..."
"Oh, I remember when you'd...."
"It's been so long since...."
Yes!
Yes!
Yes!
I admit it. I used to actually write this blog. Words flowed like wine from a box. And just as tasty. But, to tell the truth I was attracted by another. One morning I woke up passed out on her front lawn. She didn't call the police. Like a small-town sheriff she let me sleep it off and left me to let myself out in the morning. I'd find myself thinking up new fashion ideas for her. I'd dress her black and white and small splashes of color. It was exciting cooking up bon-bon mots for her.
And you got my dry husk as I'd stumble to my office. Where the best I could do was share a few del.icio.us stories. I know you'd had enough. I saw you eying the door.
I think Lance's intervention has helped me understand what I must do though. Really, it's my only course of action. I have to give you what you need. What you've expected these many years. You'll have my attention.
But, I'm too weak a man to lie, she'll have my days. We'll share my nights. Of course, only when you please, and I know I'll be in the guest room for awhile. I hope someday you'll understand why I had turn to François Mitterrand for advice on dealing with two such competing life forces.
Je suis désolé. C'est la seule chose a faire.
