In response to a question asked by Shanti in the comments section, neither The Kid nor his girlfriend know this blog exists. I assume, as I have not shared the domain nor its existence with anyone. For now, I enjoy the anonymity, regardless of the shortness of term.

I am not naive enough to believe that someone won’t find it eventually.

I guess I just don’t care.

During our most recent phone call, The Kid From Boston and I established rules.  The Godfather of all rules discussed was a mutual agreement for no calls or texts when drunk.  This will be the hardest for both of us to keep.  One of mine was a restriction of calls when he misses me sexually; another was that he is to restrain any asinine contradictions, i.e. don’t confess finally comprehending Jerry Maguire’s completetion speech or adamantly state that the love for me will last until the day [he] dies, [he] fucking swears to God … and then be too busy with girlfriend to answer my calls. Sends mixed signals, see. One of his was that I was not allowed to call when overly emotional because I should not lean on the guy who broke my heart. Again, makes sense. He also asked if I ever considered seeing a counselor at which point I said, “I’ve actually been writing about it and it’s been helping a lot.”

Although he doesn’t know the writing is online but probably wouldn’t be surprised even though he would hate it as he’s a very private person, he encouraged any emotional outlet I needed, saying hey, as long as you don’t use my real name when you publish it and ruin my political career.

No problem. Check.

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