the start

How to start, really, is the question. The problem is that like most stupid blogs, this one will be a rambling diatribe of life and all the ridiculous. The point is that like a silly high school girl, I've gone and fallen in love with a beautiful boy, and since that day last August, I've had a very hard time getting over it.
Crushes are so high school, and I'm afraid that I've been suffering a series of them since Captain Kirk first captured my young girl's imagination: imagine if we were trapped on a planet alone; if he rescued me from the salt-sucking monster; if I were the captive alien warrior with the lame brains in the bubble betting quattloos, or whatever currency it was.
Since then there've been quite a series of both real boys and fictional boys...amazingly I am married and very happily so. He wasn't a crush. That was the confusing part about it. I thought that I was settling, and it seemed like a really good idea at the time, but now I know that love is quite different. Crushes don't withstand the crying baby at 4am and the insurance payments, the dentist appointments and the child psychologists and the running out of toilet paper of real life. That's where the crushes get crushed.
But even as I married I knew that there would still be the crushes and the boys and men for fantasy and my vivid imagination. The psychics said that this would be the healing cycle, where the karma is resolved and the settling down will occur. Good.
But, I digress. My friends tell me-have always told me- I do that a lot. It was in August more or less, that I met my lastest crush. He's very beautiful: tall and blond, with green eyes. A viking. It was the sort of thing where I was expecting the guys I was going to be working with to be young and smart and pretty nerdy. Geeks are a wonderful breed, and I know them well. I married one, too. They're smart and funny, but frequently odd or odd looking, or not good with people...so when he walked in the door...
That is the beginning, but what was I thinking?
I was thinking, my goodness: what do we have here? Hello. You are so pretty. It's like I've seen you before (more on that later). But of course, it's business and there's no talking about stuff. There's me listening to him and his collegue, and looking: can that really be the colour of his eyes? That's amazing.
The collegue (who has the most amazing name--which I'd share, but that'd be the dead givaway), also a viking, is also so nice but much more of a classic geek. If I were single, I might have lusted after the boy, but I'd have really gone after the collegue: much more husband material. And much closer in age, too.
Didn't I mention that yet? Not so much: that would be the other ridiculous bit. He's twelve, well, closer to thirteen years younger. Can I be more of a cougar? I've been assured that I have to be over forty and unmarried to be a cougar, but I'm not convinced. I think being happily married with a family (also happily) and lusting after a much younger man is very cougar.
My hope is that this purging process will cure me.
I can only hope.