Musings...

My Muse,

Time creeps on and I'm feeling sicker and sicker. The kids just plain wore me out and I'm a waste of space. I need to sleep, and recuperate -- I can barely keep my eyes open. But before I succumb to the fleece blanket of drowsiness and allow it to send me into a semi-permanent stupor, I needed to write to you. It's been such an eventful couple of days that some serious reflection is unavoidable.

I feel I need to draw a line under what has been happening. The problem is the frenzy with which we communicate and write to each other and yet we never get to talk in real time... and that's what kills me.

The enforced lack of contact is frustrating. If only I could talk to you, instead of writing one more email and hoping you'd get it and reply soon. The quantity of missed communication is staggering. The nuances, the little looks. If I were sitting next to you, how I'd touch you softly on your arm, or run my hand over your head. A hand squeeze, a kiss to the forehead or a kiss on the nose. Tiny little things that mean everything and nothing -- and are so easily overlooked.

The last week afforded me a small glance into how it would be to be able to communicate with you like that. Even from remote, where the touching and the squeezing is still not feasible, the ability to be in almost constant contact was beyond magical.

* * *

I know what you meant when you wrote what you did. Odd though it may seem, the circumstance in which we find ourselves is still very new to me. Being caught up in the Dionysian high alarmed me somewhat. Forgive me my naivete, I'm just not used to it. That, coupled with my neurotic nature caused the fast flying flurry of emails, and the subsequent misunderstanding.

I was not upset. I was anxious.

And then, in your next mail, you wrote:

I love you with all my heart.

Which just took my breath away.

* * *

Sceptics may read this and think me a fool. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Bouncing from one doomed-to-failure extra-marital affair to another. In truth, it would be easy -- even facile -- to perceive our connection as doomed-to-failure. I can see it myself. As a rational human being I have to accept how unlikely it is that we could or will ever be together in any real sense. The romantic in me would like to believe that this is not true, but for once, the rational side of me keeps bitch-slapping her down, and keeping her there.

But despite all this -- I cannot stop being with you, writing to you, reading your letters, talking to you... I cannot imagine you not being there. You are the balance in my life that keeps me sane. You provide all the things that I lack from CH, the intellectual and social compatibility, the sexual adventurousness and freedom, a shared sense of humour. Your proclivities allow me to remain in my marriage (for my children) and yet be physically with my husband so that he is also happy. Yes, I deceive him, I know I deceive him. But there's nothing he could do to change the things that he lacks; the very things that you provide. And so, bizarrely enough, by being with you I manage to stay with him.

It isn't ideal, but it keeps things on an even keel, and homelife has now become bearable -- even more: pleasant. Odd though it may seem, I am still trying to work out whether I can sustain being me within the confines of my marriage. This is a decision that only I can make. I appreciate that all this seems hypocritical in the extreme, but this circumstance is completely out of the ordinary. For all that I see similarities in in other peoples' relationships in everyday life, and especially the blogosphere, I am wrong to interpret my perception in this way. As is anyone.

Each relationship is unique, and must be preceived and treated as such.

* * *

And so I close; eyes weary and drooping, head full of sneezles and weezles, nose like a Belisha beacon.

But my mind and my heart are at ease, and I have you to thank for much of that.

Love always

Your Minx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx