“What is it about love that makes us soooo stupid?” – Francis, Under the Tuscan Sun
After a couple summers in a row that sucked, it was kinda wonderful to have a summer that didn’t. It started off sucking, mucho, but then like a German housewife whose had quite enough of that nonsense, it shook out its skirts, brushed the dust off its knees, and went and had some good company and lemonade.
I didn’t go to Europe… ah well. I didn’t party in Mexico… maybe next year. I did buck the big black shadow of relationship failure and tentatively open the door to new relationships. Immediately, a beautiful italian conglomeration of passion and ‘uh-oh’ came barreling in.
Thank god for stupid, beautiful love.
The immersion of the senses into another human being, be it for half an hour or half a lifetime, this is as necessary as water… and chocolate… and air.
Usually, I think too much; waaaay too much. A robot could accuse me of being cerebral. Life sometimes has to dunk my big, fat head under the water and scream, “Drink it, stupid!”
“But I..*splutter* but… *gurgle* what if.. *choke* Ok!”
“Amore. Capisco bene. Baciami… baciami…No, no, no *kiss* non smettere…”