doot-do-do...

it's a slow day. i've managed to get my boss out the office for the next two days and the silence is heaven sent. i've skimmed the papers, predictably gritting my teeth at various bits: bush's turkey was fake, the 'healthy forest' thing passed, his poll numbers have stopped their spiral downward, and the goopers have decided to abandon their ship...

but nothing is grabbing me by the hips and making me jiggle. it's hard being politically feisty all the time, you know? and then, when your sap is running high and all that, the concentration starts to wander.

it sort of saunters over to sunday night and that guilt-inducing cocktail (then dinner, then nightcap) shared with the Older Guy. the concentration lollygags in front of that memory and waves at it, fluttering its fingers at it, trying to catch its attention again...and fiercely ignores guilt's hand tugging on her faux fur collar.

what are the obligations to someone with whom you've been intimate, exchanged the L-word (albeit drunkenly) and who lives several states away? how far does one's (gulp) commitment go?