Dear Interwebs,

Okay I confess: maybe I’m not completely over Camping Boy. I honestly thought that I was. Oops.

Last night I got a text from him telling me that he ran into my doppelganger down in Newport News, which started a flurry of texting that lasted most of the night. (Granted, this started at 11pm or so and I went to sleep around 2am, so really only 3 hours… yes, I’m trying to justify this. And yes, I know I can’t really.) I was trying to keep it all lighthearted and then he zings me with (paraphrasing) “seeing you would never freak me out. You know I actually care about you.” I mean, what exactly do you say to that? I was thinking “I don’t know what to do with this… thanks, but there’s a problem: you’re still married.” I wanted to send that, I even typed it out. But I didn’t. What I sent was more jokey, trying to turn the conversation away from its inevitable end. That worked. For about 10 minutes. That’s when I texted him “Happy birthday, enjoy the day.” Which he read as, “You’re drunk, so flirt with me, I’ll be fine with it. Oh, and mess with my head about telling me how much you miss me and wish I were there.” No, he didn’t get to that conclusion on his own, I’ll own up to that, but I did keep things on a friendly basis on my end after indulging a little (very little) flirting.

After this, I know I can’t be around him physically. I know I can’t text him. I need to not be in contact with him. Am I glad that he’s not coming up here for RDR weekend? Hell, yes. Will that make everything all right? Hell, no. Will I muddle through as always? Of course.

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