Yesterday, E.S. and I went to a New Year’s Day party at this man’s apartment. The food was delicious, as I expected it would be, given that the host is a professional chef.
What I didn’t expect was the presence among the guests of the anaerobic physicist.
(Those of you who don’t recognize the moniker might want to go here, here, and here to get caught up.)
It wasn’t so much that I still carry a torch for him. Don’t get me wrong—he’s as hot as it’s humanly possible to be, and he is, after all, both an aerobics instructor and a Ph.D. in physics—but it’s clear that E.S. is a much better partner for me.
I’m not sure, in fact, why I am so filled with stress and anguish when running into entities in the blogosphere in E.S.’s presence. It could be, as I suggested in this post, that I fear confronting my own past bad behavior. It could be the layers upon layers of hidden things—things I’d hidden from E.S. that are hidden no more, things I’m hiding from people who don’t know about the blog but are nonetheless stories in it, things I’m hiding from myself. Or it could be that, in a way, I feel the very existence of this blog is an insult to E.S.—an entire story I was telling about him (among other people) without his knowledge, and that I’m continuing to tell.
On the other hand, as my friend H. pointed out at dinner last night, without the blog we wouldn’t be back together again.
In any case, after we put our
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