Saturday, 22 January 2011


I have my best thoughts on the move, rarely at my laptop. I consider starting a Twitter diary but the joy of that medium escapes me. I resolve to write a very little bit, every day, while things are fresh in my mind so let's start with this:

It's Saturday so I am about to go to work. I could be mistaken but I suspect that Virgil is getting ready for a date. He is meeting someone for lunch. He has shaved and washed his hair and is asking for his blue cardigan. A chance glimpse of his phone earlier told me that the lunch is with Hazel. We played with her a party not so long ago. Afterwards she expressed enthusiasm for another round. I like Hazel, who is an intellectual poly political type, but declined the invitation. She is pretty in a classical way, like an old English painting, a bit soft at the edges and is clever rather than sexy. I think my lack of interest might have been the green light for Virgil, who has a special thing for mostly lesbians. Hazel's poly credentials are impeccable at any rate. 

The private knowledge makes me grumpy and he is unsettled. He wants to know if he is being ignored. I say that I am simply thinking and (when pressed) that they are neither good nor bad thoughts, but that I don't need to discuss them. I am just busy. I half-heartedly wish him a nice day. He leaves. I stew at my laptop. 

I feel hateful but determined to sit this huff out without throwing things or saying anything I'll regret. I don't want to have a discussion about open relationships. I just want Virgil to go the fuck out and get on with it... and then I will see how I feel. The secrecy, if such as thing is possible when two people share a one-bedroom flat and iPhones display unopened text messages to catch the unguarded eye, is at my request. I'm still in favour of a 'don't ask don't tell policy', even if it's less evolved.

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