2. Mash-Up No. 2: Forbidden & Divine (Addiction in Three Voices)

I have a confession.

Maybe it’s about time I purge myself of this guilt. Ok, so colonics is another option. But I digress.

I’d like to believe that old cliché that confession is good for the soul. So here I am now, at 11 p.m., typing away my guilt. I’m hoping that I can finally free my mind of this agony in slow-mo.

His name was Olian.

We met online. Eyeball ensued, over breakfast, at first, which then segued casually into daily online flirtations.

Did I mention he was German? Tall. Aryan fair and beautiful as my unbleached leg pits.

Abstemious as I am, he became my addiction. My morning caffeine fix. My evening valium. And my multitude of other sins of the flesh. I was smitten, hook, line and my hefty sinker.

Father confessor, I have truly sinned seventy times seven.

We had marathons, early mornings, just before office, post office, afternoon delights and many other permutations of Dante’s delicious inferno. I couldn’t have enough of him!

Before I realized it, he became such a presence in the office. A distraction. Stray thoughts of him would just insert themselves in my excel financial models. I couldn’t conclude opinions without a hint of him in the subtitles, footnotes and qualifications. Heck, even my double fault stat became double digits.

Olian, you left me with no choice. Gaddammit!

Six months! I had withdrawals. I missed him terribly. But someone too damn good had to go. Self-intervention was the only solution. Hey, I had to nuke the addiction.

So forget the old cliché. It was him, not me. I was perfect.

In case you meet him, you have been forewarned.