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I Lost the Moon

February 13, 2015

I woke up Sunday, hung over, worried and with the instant thought, “I think I’m falling in love with a married man.”

Fuck……… Fuck………… Fuck!

I texted him to make sure he was ok. “Are we still friends?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

He had work to do and would talk to me later.

I went about my day, confused and upset. Why was this happening again?

Another unavailable man. Was I doing this to myself? Have I become a walking cliché? Am I one of those subjects of self-help books, the woman who seeks out unavailable men? If so, why? What was I not seeing? Or was it just a coincidence? I mean, I was into him when I thought he was available. Is this the part I like? Writing about the suffering? Like Z, all over again? The long love story with it’s twists and turns and romantic moments and crying in the park. Is that what I’m setting myself up for again and again? Is Mr. Moon part of a self-destructive pattern?

Time to check in with the moral compasses, the sounding boards, the Jiminy Crickets.

Reading my mind, Liz called to check in. I don’t know what I was expecting her to say. “What is wrong with you?” Maybe. “Stop right now. You cannot see him again!”

I should’ve known better. She was all understanding and support. If I was looking for judgement, I’d have to find it elsewhere.“It’s not like he has a wife and kid waiting for him at home. He left the woman 5 months ago. It’s really up to what you’re comfortable with.” My daughter had a similar opinion.

“I’m in trouble,” I told her.

“What did you do?” she asked.

“Remember the Persian Guy I told you about? I’m falling for him hard. He’s married.”

She laughed. Finding out the circumstances, she was with Liz.

“You have to ask yourself, ‘Is it your moral standard or just the one your parents and Catholicism left you with?'”

Despite the reprieves, I knew better. It was my moral standards. I don’t want to be Carrie Bradshaw to Mr. Big. Or Meredith to McDreamy. I don’t want to be that woman. Besides, he’s on the other side of a divorce. If he decides to get a divorce. He’s a good two years away from being available. In the meantime, all I would ever be to him is the woman he had an affair with. The woman who was around when he was a mess. The woman who was his friend before his life fell apart.

Once again, it’s an untenable situation.

Again, I am pulled towards a man I can have no future with.


He texted later that afternoon. He felt guilty. He didn’t want to do the wrong thing. He didn’t want to hurt me. He shouldn’t have kissed me.

Exactly. Now, I’m the woman he feels guilty about. Great.

I asked him if he wanted to try to be just friends. He said he would like that.

Just like Z, I couldn’t do what was best and let go.

“Maybe I shouldn’t say so, but baking cookies with you and drinking wine was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” I told him.

“Me too,” he said.


He came over again yesterday evening. We drank tea and shared a salad and stayed far away from each other.

He looked at my photographs and chastised me for not believing that I could do more with them. “You should be working for National Geographic.”

He was a little preachy, actually. He told me I should save more money so I could travel. Maybe he’s controlling and mean. That would be great. Maybe I’ll hate him soon. Miracles can happen. Even the next day he was lecturing me about cooking so I could bring my lunch to work and save money.

He asked me for copies of a couple of photos. I was flattered and sent them to him.


He’s going back to Norway and then Iran this May. He’ll be gone for three months. I don’t think he’s going to come back.

This is so much worse than Z. At least I got to love him, to be with him, to spend hours in his arms.

This time, I get to be friends with my Mr. Moon before he vanishes from my life forever. Fan-Fucking-Tastic.

After looking at photographs of Avery Island, I asked him if he wanted to see it. He did.

“How about Saturday?”

“Sure. Saturday would be great,” he said.

Saturday is Valentine’s Day. I’m an idiot.


As for BR Guy, I just don’t see it going anywhere. I know my feelings or lack thereof are being influenced by this crush, but I just can’t fake it. He’s nice and comfortable and safe and nurturing and……meh. I don’t feel the way I should when I look him in the eyes. My heart doesn’t jump when I see his name on my phone. It’s no use. He asked me when he could see me again. Like a coward I said I didn’t know, that I had a lot of balls in the air. “I got it,” he replied.

So, I’m still hopelessly single, unable to connect with the guy who’s into me and stupidly drawn to the one I can’t have.

But at least I have something to write about, right?


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