So seven dates later Mark and I are still going strong.

The funny thing, however, is desire. Desire is when you can't have exactly have what you want--when you long and yearn and crave it at a distance, growing ever fonder, and storing up the things you say, or interrupting your hum-drum day with cheesy affectionate emails which push the envelope of what is work-appropriate but well enough because the days just become distance between the next encounter whcih in public is so aggressively flirtatious and with body language which if anyone in New York City were ever to pay attention would warrant at least a bashing or two or the more intimate and private moments about which I won't even blog because the silences are so pregnant and full.