Friday 2 am…..
I was awake anyway. The reason is very small and beautiful, with golden curls and makes little sucking sounds while it sleeps. I tried to go back to sleep myself, but disobedient thoughts crowded in, ricocheting around in my head, pushing me out of bed again.
So here I am, laptop on lap, a single lamp to lighten my corner of the room, wondering which path of my crooked tale to talk about.
I am not sure when it happened, but I feel as though my reasons for continuing with this blog/diary/confession, whatever you want to call it, has changed. Or is it me that’s changed?
I started writing, as a form of catharsis; a way of viewing the entire tableau of my indiscretions, so I could analyse why I so easily took the turn down the murky track of infidelity.
Initially I blamed my fall from grace, on a drunken and drug fueled one-night-stand with a stranger. As if somehow he alone was the catalyst that started the chain reaction that converted me from faithful wife, into a faithless adulterer.
I eventually abandoned that self-delusion and admitted to myself that if it hadn’t been him that night, it might have been someone else, some other night. Another place, another time, another man – the same result.
Of course the question asks itself, was I born bad, or did something happen to turn a nice, roman catholic girl into the cheating blogger you’ve been reading about?
I’ve often speculated that I might have something of the nymphomaniac gene. That too was discounted, since I’ve generally found myself well sated after a good, solid fucking.
It’s difficult to judge oneself – those of us who are given to this type of self analysis, swing from being hyper-critical and inwardly cruel, blaming our genetic makeup (the born to be bad syndrome, if such exists), to being too lenient, blaming circumstance and our treatment at the hands of others.
Who did you wrong, lady?
No one….Someone. One man……