I’ve been trying to ignore it – to work around it – but it’s just too big for me to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Mr. N/A’s new girlfriend reads my blog.

I’m pretty sure I know how she found it, and I can’t be angry – after all, I chose to put my life on the internet. My daughters think it might be helpful to her to read my stories about the man she sleeps with. One of my daughters encouraged me not to change a thing about the way I write, since this is MY blog, and no one should make me feel like I have to edit my posts. (She’s one hell of a smart cookie, that one.)

She reads it a lot. Sometimes she checks it several times a day. She even logged on while they were vacationing in Jamaica. I guess all that great sex (giggle) still left room for her to think about me and my daily rants. In a strange way, it’s a bit flattering that she finds my life so interesting (and she has boosted my readership numbers), but I find it sad that she doesn’t have enough of a life herself to find something else to do with her spare time. But that’s exactly the kind of girlfriend Mr. N/A requires… someone whose life is not her own, but, rather enmeshed in his. I should know – I was about as tangled up as you can get.

I usually have pet names for persons I mention in my blog – let’s call her Sleepover Girl. I chose this name because, upon meeting my children for the very first time at what was supposed to be a family birthday party for my daughter, she promptly went home with them and stayed the night. Sounds like she’s there nearly every night when my children are there, dragging her little daughters along to the small, two-bedroom home, putting them up on an air mattress in the living room for their special weekend treat. Meanwhile, my 9-year-old son, who shares a room with his father, is now subjected to sharing a room with Daddy and Sleepover Girl. Two adults, five kids in a two-bedroom home, with her own house and her two dogs about 8 miles down the street. Weird.

So, I am going to write what I want, when I want, with no regard for the fact that she is probably nosing around in my business.

Sorry, Charlie.

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