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Yes, middle-aged folks like me cry over guys. And missed opportunities, and regrets. And we pity ourselves. You’d think we’d become older and wiser, but instead we’re just older.

My husband wanted to go away for the weekend, so we did. And he’s been attentive, and kind, and he listens. All the things that if he’d been doing that the last six months, I wouldn’t have started looking elsewhere. There’s still no sex, but the lack of attention AND the lack of sex are what pushed me away.

And I feel sad because I feel like what I’ve done is irreversible. Again, not so much the sex as the lies. I’ve said in the past, to myself, that we are only our words, that a lie is like stealing: stealing respect, stealing the opportunity for others to have confidence in us. And real lies only, I mean, when a friend says ‘Do I look fat?’ of course you lie. And I’ve lied about where I’ve been, what I was doing and what I’m feeling. 

And so I’m awake, in a nice hotel room with my husband sleeping next to me, crying and writing.

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