tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59637815901943031342012-02-07T09:45:23.650-05:00Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comBlogger341100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-4777669165317017392012-02-06T23:42:00.000-05:002012-02-07T09:45:23.656-05:00

And in the end it was nothing. At least nothing they could find. After a long weekend of worry, GT was given a clean bill of health. Then came my own crisis, a hurried trip out of town that failed to save a friend. The backlash. The burden. And the massive meltdown when I was over being overwhelmed. MD knows only that I emailed him from a faraway hotel six hours after he'd seen me last.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-6450677655032273022012-01-30T20:52:00.000-05:002012-01-30T20:53:12.835-05:00

Veni, we have to talk. I wasn’t surprised, really. I know him, know his history, know his patterns, and know that the kind of intimacy we’d had the night before — emotional, not sexual — was the perfect impetus for his eschewal of all things Veni. The only curiosity was that he was doing it right then. I’d had Saturday pegged in my personal pool of “When Will MD Freak Out?” Why back away now

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-24340423969295468382012-01-26T17:10:00.000-05:002012-01-26T17:12:58.526-05:00

One year becomes two, two years becomes five, five becomes ten and before you know it, you've wasted your whole life on a problem you can't solve. ~ Author Unknown by Me

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-80263944649341099282012-01-23T09:02:00.000-05:002012-01-23T21:34:55.527-05:00

I had found the strength (stupidity/wherewithal/what-have-you...) to actually separate from GT. I had found a place to live. I had told him I was leaving. I had just 24 hours until the lease would be signed. Then GT mentioned the lump in his neck, and I had some very uncharitable thoughts. Something along the lines of Goddamnmotherfuckingsonofabitch I am never getting out of here. They were

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-4312584372648104902012-01-21T14:41:00.002-05:002012-01-21T14:41:40.748-05:00

I am a cranky, cranky Veni right now since Blogger ate my last post. No I didn't delete it. Flippety-flip software did. And now it's gone forever and I'm too lazy to try to reconstruct it and I'd rather sulk instead. Gah.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-74061917496613426532012-01-19T19:16:00.000-05:002012-01-21T14:44:20.568-05:00

MD broke up with me. Again. And again and again and again. I told him not to be a jerk. So this time when he broke up with me he made a point to tell me. There. Post re-created.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-69552484270216271732012-01-15T16:20:00.000-05:002012-01-15T16:20:13.068-05:00

We had agreed that having my car in MD’s driveway for a second evening was entirely too suspicious. The Mrs. was very far away, the nosy neighbors entirely too nearby. The plan was to meet at his office — the scene of many of our carnal crimes — and leave my car there for the evening instead. He’d caught me off guard the day before. Rather than sexy boots and black lace he’d gotten a cardigan

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-53347128139320897052012-01-11T18:14:00.000-05:002012-01-11T18:14:14.851-05:00

Last fall GT and I were running errands when I took detour. Short, really, only about a mile from home, technically in our same neighborhood. And then I stopped. I'm going to rent that house. He looked confused but not yet concerned. To live in. To separate. Why? What are you talking about? It's not that he hadn't heard the reasons. He'd just never heard them. He has an amazing talent for not

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-24912214993457441502012-01-06T22:12:00.001-05:002012-01-15T18:34:37.652-05:00

Can you spend the night with me this weekend? It was an email, of course, the staple of our sporadic relationship. In the course of our four year fling, however, we’d never spent a night together. Even two-hour trysts were few and far between, and now I was being offered an overnight. Yes. Answer first; work out the alibi later. Friday, not Saturday. Thursday, too? Oh my. But even at his

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-58827564669544637122010-04-25T10:31:00.003-04:002010-04-25T10:36:18.543-04:00

I didn’t expect MD to be there. It was a drop-by, a kids’ function with no real focus on the adults. The Venn diagram of our lives has a sizable overlap, but I had no idea this was one of them.The problem? I looked like a mom. Capris and a preppy sweater. Hair bundled in a clip with no real thought or execution. I’d debated even bothering with the mascara, chose to put it on. Small mercies,

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-12286059725330788992010-04-19T20:34:00.001-04:002010-04-19T20:36:19.489-04:00

For the first time, well, ever, I told GT I was "too tired".I'd fallen asleep and must've stirred when he turned off the TV because he leaned over to kiss me goodnight. I kissed him back, which I suppose he could have interpreted as an invitation, and he kissed me again, the pressure of his lips increasing. I jerked away, half-snapped the infamous phrase, and flounced myself in a one-eighty,

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-7565554619760516812010-04-16T16:36:00.000-04:002010-04-16T16:42:51.137-04:00

GT and I are in "relationship" mode. He is Trying Hard and Communicating.I am Being Patient and Keeping My Anger in Check.We’re all capital letters and air quotes. Gawd, is it annoying.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-18263697513635029662010-04-14T23:02:00.001-04:002010-04-14T23:02:00.215-04:00

There will be none. Engagement, that is.It’s not about comments or hits or cross-links or quotes. It’s about being honest with myself . . . and what self-respecting pseudo-writer doesn’t do that in front of the whole interweb here in 2010?But, though I'm throwing it out to the world, I'd really prefer the world not talk back.I thought about starting fresh, creating a new persona who could give me

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-70114491504283777792010-04-12T00:05:00.005-04:002010-04-12T00:05:00.827-04:00

When we last left our recreant reporter, things stood thusly in Veniville: GT had agreed to counseling that was making no substantive difference to our marriage; MD was waffling and weasling as he is wont to do; and I was settling in to the status quo with both of them, having resolved to write about none of it.In the intervening months — fourteen of them — I got some focus, got a hobby, got

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-6221281373587817662010-04-08T16:25:00.005-04:002010-04-08T17:19:06.330-04:00

nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare.Anyone can err, but only the fool persists in his fault.The fool, of course, being Veni.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-58657580306285161122009-02-07T21:35:00.005-05:002010-04-08T16:18:23.484-04:00

For the longest time I’ve been quiet.(Over a month, for those of you keeping track, and I know some of you are ... I am grateful for every private contact inquiring about my well-being. Please don’t take my lack of acknowledgment as lack of appreciation. It has meant much.)Not intentionally. I just haven’t been able to bring myself to write. Yet there are stories unfinished, secrets untold, and I

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-6966149813758615562009-01-03T10:22:00.002-05:002010-04-08T13:48:31.178-04:00

MD and I have been in casual contact throughout the holidays. GT and I have begun marriage counseling.I am cautiously optimistic about 2009.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-4659317101660861272008-12-17T15:31:00.002-05:002010-04-08T13:48:13.223-04:00

Several weeks ago — before the ladies’ night out with The Mrs., before the return invitation to a party at her house — I emailed MD.It was short, just two lines about an upcoming event we both despised. Open-ended, it required no response, but I hated myself as soon as I hit send, hated being weak and setting myself up again to be ignored.He replied later that day. Equally short, equally

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-26932929780546014202008-12-14T17:08:00.007-05:002010-04-08T13:47:52.602-04:00

A month after MD told me we couldn't see each other, he sent an email — "I miss you."At his urging (not much, truth be told) I agreed to meet the next day. A hastily arranged cover story ensured a few free hours, and I watched the clock like a kid the day before summer vacation. I hadn't anticipated the traffic, though, which shaved an hour from our already-tight timeline."When I said last time

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-86835434882757113012008-12-03T10:48:00.010-05:002010-04-08T13:46:36.821-04:00

I noticed him at the front desk and made some comment, the kind of flirtation that is as unconscious and natural to me as breathing. Certainly not a serious attempt. We parried for a few minutes, drifting toward the elevatorsI knew who he was, of course, one of “the talent”. He did not have the conventional pretty-boy looks of most anchors, but I'm fond of a receding hairline, and the combo of

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-32333950777429625902008-12-01T22:00:00.005-05:002010-04-08T13:46:53.875-04:00

Sometimes I don't think things through.The Mrs. emailed me.With a return invitation to a party.At her house.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-30256118773130326362008-11-28T07:42:00.001-05:002010-04-08T13:45:41.978-04:00

I have chronicled the blatant rejection of me by my husband in an attempt to frame the incidences of my infidelity. Not to justify, because I do not find them justified, but to explain, in some small measure, how and why I’ve been willing to go from Point Abstinent to Point Unfaithful.But I have never been able to embrace my infidelity, much as I have wished that I could. What I want is not to

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-74612136593456861422008-11-16T22:13:00.023-05:002010-04-08T13:42:53.909-04:00

Our foyer wall displays a framed quote, bought many years ago at craft fair. "Wedding present?" several inquired upon reading it."No, just a reminder," I'd reply. As often happens, it has faded into the patchwork of decor. I pass without really seeing it, noting only a splash of color, the pleasing arrangement, yet give little thought to the actual sentiment. In marriage, being the right person

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-79442103793938258712008-11-14T16:10:00.008-05:002010-04-08T13:41:02.625-04:00

When I was nineteen I skinned my knee. As I recall — and the recollections are vague, you understand — we didn’t want to wait in line. No doubt our friends were already inside, and I can be a bit impatient. Climbing the fence into the beach bar seemed like a fine idea.In retrospect, scaling a 6-foot privacy fence while tipsy and wearing a mini-skirt was not, perhaps, the best plan. Both the

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-23705613363972846132008-11-04T07:09:00.007-05:002010-04-08T13:38:48.369-04:00

A few months after we were married I bought my husband a card. Not for any occasion. Just because. Just because I loved him.It wasn't a schmoopy, sentimental one — they never are — but I wrote in it how happy I was we were married and that I just wanted him to know that. I signed it with a lipstick kiss, sealed it in its bright yellow envelope and drew a little heart under his name. I propped it

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-2264107729405075222008-09-23T17:54:00.029-04:002010-04-08T14:00:53.115-04:00

I write one measly post about needing a new screenwriter and what happens? The lovely Holly tags me on a meme about who'd be me in the big-screen version of my life. Alrighty, then.I'm not tagging partly because most of the bloggers I read have already played, but mostly because I don't always follow the rules.Veni: Geena DavisIn my younger (read: slimmer) days I often got comments about a

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-77230349611384131522008-09-20T12:22:00.021-04:002010-04-08T13:56:35.186-04:00

If I were an actress I'd be one of those leading ladies who always gets involved with her co-star. Not "falls in love with", making grand announcements to the press or coy attempts to avoid being photographed together. No, we'd be inseparable — seeking each other out on the set, hanging in our trailers between shots and overnight — yet the wrap party would finish not only the production but also

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-14052835344660757522008-09-19T21:01:00.006-04:002010-04-08T13:56:10.163-04:00

It was the wine talking. It often is.Friday night lights, and I finally saw MD. It was halftime when I spotted him, no easy feat in a sea of suburban football fans, all khaki shorts, collared shirts and baseball caps.I just needed to see him, to get it out of the way, and finally I had. He dumped me not once, but twice, and I've spent entirely too much time since envisioning the coolly-amused

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-28472089875270500192008-09-11T22:49:00.012-04:002010-04-08T13:54:53.192-04:00

"I need to see you."I smiled. We often talked about how much we wanted each other .. longed to feel each other, not just ourselves ... needed to have more than stolen kisses and hurried caresses. Working from home meant working harder to get away, but I didn't push. I took what we had and dreamed about what we didn't. Actual meetings were rarities to be anticipated and savored."Can you meet me

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-56937346756258072942008-09-09T17:54:00.006-04:002010-04-08T13:54:34.915-04:00

What are the chances he'll be there tonight? Not good, no, but he might. Wonder what homeroom his daughter is in. I should call F1 and ask her who her daughter has, I think they have the same teacher. Where is that in relation to where I'm going? I gotta get that school map before I call."Honey, what's your homeroom? And where is that? M'kay, thanks."What to wear? Not those. He likes me in black

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-48873552836974404272008-09-08T16:37:00.016-04:002010-04-08T13:53:11.108-04:00

I emailed Mrs. MD today. She falls somewhere between "acquaintance" and "friend" and has for years. Long before I got the hots for her husband. It was one of those breezy, "Haven't seen you in awhile, just catching up" emails. "How are the kids . . . are you familiar with the committee they want me to join . . . did our mutual friends buy that mountain house you were telling me about ... and

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-69809366401672851932008-09-07T09:00:00.006-04:002010-04-08T13:52:37.652-04:00

If GT were to learn of my affair, the response would be immediate and absolute. He would be out within an hour, divorce papers in my hand within forty-eight. It is, as they say, a deal-breaker.He was raised and remains a strong Catholic. Adultery, of course, ranks high on the smite scale.He knows how important sex is to me, not just for the physical pleasure but the emotional connection and

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-15573519378673348022008-09-04T17:54:00.012-04:002010-04-08T13:49:39.592-04:00

It’s his emails I miss. I miss the taste of him, too. The feel of his hands pulling my hips until his hard cock presses against me. His breath hot on my neck. But we had emails more than we had chances to be physical. And email is how it started, business that was never meant to get personal. Contract negotiations required a lot of back and forth, but seriousness isn’t my forte… flirtation is.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5963781590194303134.post-50926775088686034512008-09-03T21:06:00.017-04:002010-04-08T13:49:22.549-04:00

I am full of unrequited lust.I desperately want a man I cannot have. The man that I have most decidedly does not want me.The object of my desire lusts as well, but chooses not to have me. It's been so long since my husband had me that he seems to have forgotten the concept of desire.Either way, I'm screwed.Or not, as the case may be.

Venihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845624763202949702noreply@blogger.com