Tag Archives: romance

Anniversary Memories: Camping in Shenandoah

1 Oct

My husband and I recently celebrated our 2 year wedding anniversary.  It was a good experience.  Last year was nice, but the shadow of everything I had discovered just 6 months before was hanging around.  We had great moments, but sadness creeped in every now and then.  I distracted myself through lots of planned activities and experiences that would take my mind off of anything negative.

This year was almost the opposite.  We had no distractions, nothing really planned beyond where we would be camping, and nothing over the top.  It was just him and me… and a tent.  I left my laptop and tablet at home, he left his phone.  Mr. Mess had picked out and reserved a camp site in Shenandoah National Park, we had a rough idea of when we wanted to leave, and he had a few general plans of what we could do in the area.  When we arrived at the entrance to Skyline Drive they gave us a map, a brochure, and told us that there was an apple butter festival happening that afternoon.  Fun!

We picked up some firewood and a few supplies, then got right to the business of setting up our tent.  The campsite was perfect.  It was right at the end of a road and there was an area set back from the fire pit and picnic table that was surrounded on 3 sides with trees.  That is where we set up our tent.  It was the only moment where things got a little hairy…  We had a small tiff over getting the tent staked down, but it didn’t linger.  We were both able to see how completely useless it would be to argue over something that minor, so we moved on and had a nice time.

Once the camp was established, we headed down Skyline Drive and made our way to the apple butter festival.  30 miles doesn’t seem like far, but at 30 miles per hour, it takes an hour… not counting stops along the way to check out breathtaking views like this one:

By the time we made it down to the area where the festival was located we were quite hungry.  The parking was also about a mile or so away from the festival area.  My husband’s knee started really bothering him (it was probably his gout flaring up, but he didn’t know that he had gout at that point).  Then out of the blue a very nice gentleman stopped and let us hop on his tailgate.  Yay for helpful strangers!

The festival itself was somewhat disappointing, but we managed to connect with each other over the horrible food and cheesy items for sale.  One really neat aspect was two large vats of boiling apples over open fires.  There were large, long-handled stirrers to keep the boiling liquid mixed and evenly heated.  The smells were amazing.  There was also great music and several acts, including cloggers.  There were pony rides for kids, a wine tasting booth, and plenty of cute doggies.

When we had our fill of that environment I was able to get us another ride back up the mountain (sometimes you just gotta ask).  We then exited onto Route 33 to head into town.  The pump for the queen air mattress that we brought was useless – some moisture must have gotten in when it was stored, and the batteries were corroded.  On the way to Wally World we stopped by the ABC store to get some yummy local wine (we already had some favorites from previous trips to this area).  We also picked up a knee-brace for hubby, and a few other things – including wonderful cheese (blue cheese, gouda, and an herbed cheddar), bakery-made Asiago focaccia bread (the best bread in the world – I stand by that statement), and contact solution (which I had forgotten to pack).

On the way back to our campsite we caught this phenomenal view of the sun starting to descend behind the mountaintops.

That evening my husband cooked us one of the best dinners I have ever had.  First, we started up the fire.  I have to add here that I find the smell of a camp fire incredibly amazing.  It’s one of my favorite smells in the entire world.  We worked together to prep the items to cook – sliced Portobello mushrooms and onions, filet mignon, the various cheeses, the wonderful bread, and a beautiful bottle of wine.

He heated up the cast iron skillet, we loaded it up with butter, and sautéed the veggies.  The steaks soon followed (in the same pan), then a thin layer of blue cheese was applied over everything.  We enjoyed the wine as things cooked, then shared a dinner that can only be described as scrumptious.  I wish I had pictures to share, but that meal lives only in our memories.

That evening we drank quite a bit, played with the fire, lounged around the campsite, and snuggled.  When the stars came out I could swear there were a million of them.  Our tent has a mesh top with an optional cover, which we left off.  As we lay in each others arms on our comfy mattress under a thick comforter, we laughed, kissed, and stared in wonder at the beauty of nature.

The next morning it was COLD!!  30 degrees, frost on the picnic table, can see our breath cold!  Mr. Mess tried to start our fire back up, but it was so windy that all we could create was a smoke monster (we joked that it could have been an extra in Lost).  I wrapped myself up from head to toe in our huge comforter and watched him try to make breakfast over our pseudo fire.  It resulted in a somewhat edible breakfast that was nothing compared to our dinner.  We quickly decided to pack everything up, get in the warm car, and start our day of adventure early.

Without any specific plan in mind, we drove in the direction of the closest winery, according to our GPS.  We should have known better.  That thing is evil.  I really think it hates me.  The first thing it tried to do was take us down an old fire lane that was overgrown with grass and blocked off by the park rangers.  It refused to detour us – according to evil GPS that was the only way to get to said winery.  We decided to continue to the exit that we were closest to, then try again.  We should have just given up on that winery, but for some reason we were stuck on finding it.

After we got to Route 33, we tried again.  It said the winery was 2.6 miles away…  Not too bad.  All of a sudden, that 2 miles turned into 6.  Then 11 more.  Apparently this was the magically moving winery.  Still we continued on.  Next thing we knew, we were in the middle of absolutely nowhere.  The paved road was ending and a gravel road stretched out ahead.  Our GPS told us to turn left.  The problem is there was no road.  Just a little grassy clearing that ended in a ditch.  We wandered around a bit trying to find anything close to a winery.  No luck.  We finally decided to give up, while laughing and cursing our evil British GPS (I gave him a funny accent to make him more bearable).

Not to be dissuaded, we picked up some food and chose a more easily located winery that we had visited in the past.  The weather was beautiful, the windows were down, and our car and all of our belongings smelled like the wonderful camp fire (smoke monster).  Life was great!  On the way to said winery, we passed this beautiful, inquisitive cow, and my husband stopped to allow me to snap a few pictures.

The first winery was simply stunning.  The wine was good, but the view was better.

The chatty woman who went over the wine tasting with us also gave us a map of all of the wineries in Virginia.  (Funnily enough, she knew about the winery we were trying to find earlier…  She said it was like 2 miles farther up the winding gravel road.  When we checked out the winery on said map, we discovered in large, bold letters the warning NOT to use a GPS to get there.  Oh well.)  We picked a few wineries on the map that were on the way home, and took off with the wind in our hair.  Here’s the view from the next one we hit:

We picked the final winery based solely on the fact that free wine glasses came with each tasting.  It was a fantastic choice!  Not only were the wines fantastic, they have a weekly polo match there every Sunday!  There were hundreds of people there, the energy was fabulous, and they had a cooler full of great cheeses.  We grabbed our glasses, a few warm baguettes, some cheese, and a bottle of wine and headed down to the polo field.  The sun was shining, the grass was soft, and the food and wine were delicious.  We couldn’t have planned things this perfect if we had tried!

Our last stop on the anniversary celebration was apple picking in Charlottesville.  It was the first time Mr. Mess had ever been, and we had a good time.  He bought some ice cream, I got a few cinnamon donuts, and we filled a bag with apples that we climbed trees to salvage.  I will leave you with a picture of the orchard we wandered through together.


23 May

A few days ago I changed the look of my blog to make it perkier and give it a lighter ambience.  One thing I made sure was consistent, though, is the color: pink.  I have had a love-hate-love relationship with pink throughout my life.  I thought today I would give you a little glimpse into me using the color pink as a framework.

When I was very young my parents were members of an Apostolic Pentecostal church because my uncle was a pastor there.  One foundation of that faith is that women (and girls) are required to only wear dresses and to keep their hair long.  There are all sorts of other strict rules, but the basic idea is that femininity is required – even for babies.  That means that I actually learned to “crawl” in a dress.  I put crawl in quotes because I couldn’t really use my knees like most children do since the dresses made it virtually impossible.  Picture this:  me in a frilly pink dress, hair that had never been cut, “crawling” around on my hands and feet in this weird hunched/ crouching position so that I could maneuver around without tripping myself.  I think I have a photo of that somewhere, actually.  I will have to try and find it.

It wasn’t quite like this, but you get the general idea…

In my early childhood pink was a staple.  Even after we changed churches and parted ways with the stringent guidelines I owned tons of cute outfits, hair clips, and chunky plastic jewelry that was pink.  When I was about 6 years old my parents bought 10 acres of land in the country, and my Mom started designing a new house for us.  We got to pick everything, which was very exciting for me.  I picked out pink carpet, pink paint for my walls, pink wallpaper border, and a pink bedspread.  We moved in when I was about 7 years old, and I loved my new room.

In the next few years I got more active in sports (softball and horse-back riding mostly), started exploring those 10 acres, and became a tree-climbing, tough, tomboy who loved getting dirty, didn’t mind a few cuts and scrapes, and spent more time with my horses and dogs than playing dress-up.  I started hating the color pink with a passion.  I decided orange was my new favorite color, I think mostly because it isn’t “girly” at all.  I named all of my stuffed animals “orangey,” even the ones that had absolutely no orange in them.  I also spent some time ripping the heads off of my sister’s Barbie dolls just to prove how not interested I was in being frilly and delicate.

As I changed from a pre-teen into a full-blow teenager orange was no longer my favorite color, but pink was still at the very bottom of my list.  I gravitated to blue, gray, black, and anything that made me feel tough.  I think part of that had to do with the fact that I was very picked on in school.  I was home-schooled by my Mom until 6th grade, which I thought was wonderful.  I was super-fast with my school-work, which allowed me to skip a grade and have more time to play outside.  I could finish my lessons for the day in just a few hours at home.

Then I changed to private school for 2 years.  Not only were the lessons excruciatingly, unnecessarily long (it took 3 or 4 times what I had been spending to go over things that I found incredibly simple), but the kids were mean.  Private schools sound good in theory, especially to religious parents who think their children will get the benefit of Christian teachings, prayer, and smaller class sizes.  Let me tell you something – the reality is much different.  Private schools are full of kids who have been rejected from public schools because of their bad attitudes, problems focusing, and in some cases drug habits.  Sure, there are only 15-20 students in an entire grade.  That just means you can’t get away from the bullies.  Ever.

I was very glad to switch to public school for 8th grade through graduation.  At least there I could blend in, fade into the background a bit, and hopefully find a niche for myself.  Still, I was the “new kid.”  Everyone had been together, known one another, and formed their social circles since elementary school.  I wasn’t especially popular, outgoing, or interested in the “normal” teenage drama.  I came to despise the color pink even more because it was associated with the narcissistic, cruel, and shallow group of “mean girls.”

I did end up finding my own comfort zone in show choir, academics, and a few musicals and plays (even though I never fit in with the drama crowd).  I had a few close friends, I was relatively well-liked and respected, although not popular by anyone’s standards, and I was able to avoid being ridiculed for the most part.  I graduated at the top of my class, and couldn’t have been happier to leave it all behind.

I will skip most of the stuff in between then and now because it really doesn’t relate to my journey with the color pink.  Once I became a more self-assured adult something slowly changed about my opinion of pink.  It started with just a few nice pops of pink in a pretty shirt.  I realized I was okay with being feminine – in fact, it was something that made me feel good about myself.  I bought a bright pink shirt for the summer and noticed how much it flattered my dark hair and fair skin.

Slowly pink started making its way back into my life.  Now it represented confidence.  I could own pink for myself, not as something forced onto me by religion, culture, my parents, or the “in crowd.”  I also found that since I was more confident in myself I was okay with the vulnerability and softness that pink sometimes implies.  I didn’t have to be tough all the time.  I didn’t have to be strong, invincible, and shielded from the world.  I could just be me.  And I discovered that “me” likes pink.

I have been shaped by my life experiences and have grown because of them.  I still like black and gray, but I also enjoy silver and pink.  In fact, black and pink were the colors of my wedding.  I wanted this blog to have a pink theme because it reminds me of the journey I have taken to be okay with pink.  It reminds me that I can be vulnerable.  It reminds me that I am fluid – changing and becoming a different person every day.  That is why pink is important to me.

Being Thankful

17 May

As I have said in past posts, I have started going back to the women’s group for spouses of sex addicts on Wednesday nights.  It hadn’t met for 2 weeks because of schedule conflicts and vacations, but last night it started back up.  The turnout ended up being rather small (just me and one other woman plus the couselor), but it really helped me to put things into perspective.

There is a woman who I have gotten close to that is dealing with a husband who has no real remorse, desire to change, or respect for her.  He had a long-term affair with her best friend and has continued to make small forms of contact (checking her Facebook page, seeing and talking to her at their children’s’ sports events, etc).  He also has tons of anger and resentment towards her and sees himself as the primary victim in the relationship because her focus has been on their 8 children for the past 20 years and not fulfilling his every whim and desire.  He is resentful, unwilling to participate in regular marriage or individual counseling, and constantly defensive of himself and dismissive of her needs and feelings.  His arrogance and delusions astound me.  When I listened to her stories and struggles from the past few weeks I felt such anger and indignation for her.  I also felt a deep respect and appreciation for the things my husband is doing right.

I really started thinking about how lucky I am that my husband is willing to put so much effort into making our marriage stronger.  The last few weeks have been full of a lot of progress and successes.  Sure, there have been a few low points and some disappointments – there are always bound to be some of those.  But when I step back and look at where we are now compared to where we have been I feel proud and hopeful.  I really have a lot of things to be extremely thankful for.  That might sound a little strange given our history, some of my more painful posts, and the fact that my husband is a sex addict.  It is still very true, though.  Here are a few recent examples of what I mean…

Mr. Mess has been really turning a corner in his thinking.  I can’t quite put my finger on what has changed, but I can see that he is actually starting to “get” the work and effort required to have a happy, healthy relationship.  And he is willing to do it!  That is huge!  I can’t even begin to describe how safe and loved that makes me feel.  This week we have had at least 3 really good, meaningful conversations that lasted for a while (over an hour).  Even a year ago it wouldn’t have been possible to talk about triggers, emotions, and deep feelings without defensiveness, yelling, stonewalling or all three becoming part of the mix.  I recognize that shows a real change in both of us – the way we approach each other, open up, become vulnerable, and break down our defenses and pride is paying off.

He has been very validating when I have a bad day or a trigger.  He has started telling me that he is sorry for the part he played in making me feel this way.  If I get angry or upset over something he is willing to empathize and tell me that he can understand why I would feel that way.  It’s amazing how those simple things can just pop the balloon of anger and resentment that I feel.  I am finding that I am much more willing and able to take a step back, see things from his perspective, and offer understanding and forgiveness in return.  It is also becoming easier to admit my faults and the things I need to adjust in my thinking and behavior.  Our communication has improved 10 fold, and so has our trust.  That has been a big hurdle, and it seemed insurmountable at first.  Now I’m finding that all of these little things really add up and help in ways that I couldn’t have imagined before.

Mr. Mess is finally starting to really take the initiative he needs to take.  He is in individual counseling again.  He went once last week and has another appointment today.  He isn’t just going, though…  he is really fully participating.  His IC has a book that they were working through on recovering from sex addiction that has exercises and deals with all aspects of addiction like what it is, recognizing the damage it has done in your life, how to identify triggers and change behaviors, and the list goes on.  He was part-way through the book when he stopped going a few months back.  This time he took the initiative to say that he feels he needs to start from the beginning, give it his all, and follow through all the way to the end.  He came up with that all on his own – without me even suggesting or hinting about it.  That makes me feel so happy because I know he is taking the reigns of his recovery, which is the only way it can really work.

Along the same lines, he is going to SA meetings at least once a week and sometimes twice.   That was something that I requested that he go back to doing, but this time around I feel like he is fully committed.  Something fundamental seems to have changed inside him.  He was very resistant to SA at first, and I think to an extent the entire time he was going.   His therapist was insistent that recovery takes 3 prongs: individual counseling, medication (if necessary to stabilize moods, deal with depression and anxiety, etc.), and group meetings.  He went for a little while and complained the whole time.  In a few angry outbursts during arguments he would say that he doesn’t even think he really is a SA.  Now at least he really accepts it and is giving it a real shot to see what he can get out of the program.  He still struggles with some aspects of it, especially the religious stuff like prayers, “God” in the steps, etc.  We have found atheist/agnostic 12 steps that he is using now.  More than that, though, this time around I see a change in his overall attitude.

We are also doing marriage counseling twice per month.  It has been very helpful in understanding each other.  We have done the love languages, which I talked about in Physical Touch, and we both took the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator and talked about what our results mean (more about that later).  Not only that, but he is doing some reading, he has been opening up and talking to me about it, and we have committed to doing couple’s exercises on a regular basis from a few books.  One of the most exciting things, though, is that we have decided to go to Retrouvaille.  It is a weekend program designed for married couples that focuses on “our emotional lives; family of origin issues; modern society’s attitudes toward marriage; managing conflict and anger; personality styles and how they influence our relationship; trust; forgiveness and healing; sexual intimacy; belonging to each other; and communication skills.”  I have heard positive feedback about the program, and there is one not too far from us in July.  We talked about it last night, and Mr. Mess seems very enthusiastic and more than willing to attend.  Yay!

All of these great, positive things have really made me realize that I have a great man who is willing to work on himself and our marriage because he loves me.  How lucky am I?  We are working together to change, grow stronger, and become each other’s support.  There are more great things to come.  That needs to be my focus, even when I’m having a rough time or a bad day.  When we have setbacks, I need to remind myself of everything we have made it past and how much farther along the road we are now.  I am choosing to focus on the fact that our committment will get us through whatever comes our way.  As long as we both continue giving it our all, we will be okay.

Physical Touch

9 May

One of the first things my husband and I did in marriage therapy was discover our primary “love languages.”  The idea comes from the book, The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman.  I’m not going to go through all of the love languages here because there are a lot of other people who have already done that much better than I could.  Feel free to check out the link and the book because I do think it is useful information.

Back to my point…  During our counseling session I discovered that my husband’s primary love language is Words of Affirmation followed by Physical Touch.  It wasn’t exactly a revelation to me.  The marriage counselor explained the 5 love languages first, then asked us to guess at what our spouse’s primary and secondary love languages were.  Surprisingly, I got his primary and secondary love language right and he got my love languages (Quality Time and Acts of Service) right.  Physical Touch doesn’t rank at the top of my list, but when I look the Love Languages quiz I found that it is my #3 love language.

Over the past couple of days I have seen a few things about the importance of touch.  Today I thought I would share some of my thoughts on why touch is so important to a relationship.  Several people on the forum have posted about some of the things their marriage lost even before they knew about their spouse’s affair.  Physical touch was one of the first things to go.  By physical touch I don’t just mean sexual encounters, but every type of intimate touch – from holding hands to hugs and kisses.

Those are the types of physical touch that mean the most to me.  It is part of the comfort of being in a relationship.  Knowing that I can come home after a long day and have my husband wrap me in his arms makes me feel loved and safe.  I still find it incredibly romantic when we hold hands in the car or walking down the street.  Simply sitting next to each other so that our bodies are touching while we watch TV or a movie is strangely intimate.  I also love it when he runs his hands through my hair or rubs his nose against mine (an act we call “snuzzling”).

I think that a lot of couples forget the simple pleasure of kissing and “making out” away from the context of sex.  Our lips are one of the most sensitive areas on our bodies.  There is a good reason that we feel a rush the first time we kiss someone.  Physical touch increases the hormone oxytocin and makes couples feel closer.  Kisses can also convey many different emotions, so you can truly understand what the other person is thinking.  There is the sweet and sensitive kiss, the affectionate peck, the kiss hello and goodbye, and those oh-so-passionate, I-want-you-NOW kisses.

Small touches and kisses can definitely turn into something much more.  Touching can help you find that little flicker.  Then you can increase that little flicker until it becomes a burning flame.  My skin still tingles when my husband runs his fingers down my arm.  And don’t get me started on his massages!  Not only does a good foot massage melt away the stress of the day, it also makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.  Those tingles I was talking about earlier?  They migrate to all the right places.  It reminds me of the song Bubbly by Colbie Caillat.

I firmly believe that connecting physically allows couples to reconnect emotionally, too.  It is easy to get distracted by all of the craziness in the world – by your job, responsibilities, bills, kids (for those that have them), and all of the mundane tasks of the day (dishes, laundry, paperwork, grocery shopping, and the list goes on…).  Touching helps you remember what attracted you to your partner in the first place.  It can bring back those butterflies in your stomach even years into a relationship.  For all of those reasons, I am going to make physical touch more of a priority every day.

Our Story

9 Apr

Today I have been thinking about “our story.”  You know what I mean – every couple has one – the fairy tale story of how you met, fell in love and ended up together.  Without even meaning to we often sugar coat things, add in extra layers of romance, and make the meeting seem like this super important, time-and-heart-stopping event.  Maybe it is that way for some people – maybe they don’t have to exaggerate or leave out the ugly parts because it was that special and wonderful and not a single thing went wrong that night or ever since.  It wasn’t “perfect” at all for me and my husband, but somehow I concocted a cutesy, lovey-dovey version of that night for myself and my friends and family.

Here it is (as it appeared in our engagement book – and yes we had one of those) with a few minor changes:

“On November 2nd, 2007 I headed out to spend an evening on the town playing darts with my friend.  We met up at The Bar, our favorite place to relax and unwind after a hard week at the office.  I hadn’t been out in a while, and I was looking forward to having some fun and releasing a little stress by throwing pointy things at the wall (a.k.a. darts).

After staking out the best table in the corner, we headed up to the bar to grab a drink.  Almost immediately my friend spotted someone who she hadn’t seen in a while, my future husband.  She introduced us, and I noticed right off the bat how great and genuine his smile was.  He was updating his new cell phone and put my friend’s name and number in next to a smiley face icon.  I joked that he must not know her very well if that’s the symbol he was using.  He laughed and made a joke right back.

The rest of the night she and I played darts, mingled around, and talked to different people.  I always found myself gravitating back to [my future husband] because something about him was so engaging and fun.  I found out that he hadn’t been out in months, either, and he just happened to be out celebrating a new job that evening.  Once we talked a little more I connected the dots that this was the man who my friend had been talking about for years at work.  She used to visit his apartment all the time because he was dating her best friend.  She told me stories about how well he cooked, and how she always wanted to help but he took care of everything.

At some point in the night we got into a darts match where he and I were on opposite teams.  I was not very good at darts because I was just starting out, but somehow my team was kicking their butts.  Of course I made sure he knew it.  I have heard that I can sometimes be intimidating (though I don’t know how that could be), but I was impressed by his ability to take it and dish it right back.  His witty banter was very charming and I could tell he was intelligent and quick on his feet.

Needless to say, I was enjoying myself and having a great time.  Although I didn’t know it at the time, my friend told him that he didn’t have a chance with me, so he shouldn’t even try.  He is not one to just throw in the towel, and he didn’t take that as the final word.  During a brief game break he asked me if I would give him my real phone number if he asked for it.  When I said yes, he asked if I would actually pick up if he called.  That got me laughing, and got him my number.

He walked me to my car that night and was a perfect gentleman, which I have to admit I made a little difficult.  He told me that he wanted to take me out on a date soon and get to know me.  About 30 minutes later he called me to make sure I got home safely, and I knew he could be a keeper.  The rest is, as they say, history.”

My perfect, plastic story fit my perfectly make-believe version of life – Kinda like this Barbie that’s all hearts and pink and perfectly manufactured.

Here’s the shorter, more “real” version:

I went out to a bar with my friend.  We proceeded to get drunk and throw darts.  I met a friend of hers.  She challenged him that he could never “get me.”  He pursued me just to prove her wrong (having not really been all that interested in me to begin with).  We flirted, drank some more, and I insulted him a few times because I’m mean like that when I’ve been drinking.  I was impressed when he didn’t cry, and flattered when he asked for my number.  Once the bar closed he walked me to my car, we made out and dry humped a bit on the street.  He refused to come home with me.  He called me later that night to sooth my drunken ego, and make sure I didn’t kill myself (or someone else) on the way home.  He asked to take me out on a date some time.  I agreed.

Yeah, that’s really it.  Not too flattering to either of us.  And I’m not proud of the drinking, the “whore-ish” behavior on my part or the drunk driving (really not cool – REALLY).  I was coming off a bad 7-year relationship with my high school sweet-heart (a completely different story).  He had just started working again after his own bad breakup and meltdown (really a different story that I will have to get into at some point).  There was bad behavior, lies, and poor judgement involved.  I will not justify myself because a lot of that was incredibly wrong and in hindsight I am lucky (on so many levels) that I am not dead.

I will say that I now realize there is nothing remotely romantic, stable, or marriage-building in our first meeting – or really a lot of our early dating.  I can’t believe how stupid and reckless I was.  It doesn’t matter that this was only the 4th or so time I had ever been out to a bar, that I was 22, that I have never had a one-night stand, that I do not agree with driving drunk, that I am normally a safe and intelligent woman, or that I was trying to numb some serious internal pain.  What matters is that night ranks as one of the worst moments for me personally, yet somehow I tried to make it sound like the beginning of some “Happily Ever After” scenario.  And I believed myself for a while!  How ridiculous!

Do you delude yourself about your relationship – either the one you’re in or one in the past?  This was just the beginning for me, as you will find out in future posts.

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