Middle-Aged Passions

Magical Samantha made comment on Sunday how she was a little jealous about me continuing to carry on my myriad passionate affairs – concerned perhaps that I would not have time for her.

Well, I can see her concern. It’s a mighty heady place, this life of mine with the perfect mattress, a fully operational HMW, and a stainless still extra capacity garbage can, right? How could it possibly get better? I challenged her to show me how I could possibly improve upon such perfection.

She decided that perhaps it was time the inanimate objects in my life were made aware of her claim. She made the following counter-statement:

Magical Samantha was planning to leave Tuesday afternoon to head back to Berkeley and her kitty and all those things on her list to complete while on school break. Somehow, she lingered well into today…don’t know what her motivation, no, not at all. She’s a very good teacher, apparently–I think I’ve learned that interpersonal relationships are vastly superior to those with inanimate objects. I have indeed forgotten all about the garbage can.

I’m not grinning slyly, nope, not me.

Passion, it lies in all of us, sleeping… waiting… and though unwanted… unbidden… it will stir… open its jaws and howl. It speaks to us… guides us… passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love… the clarity of hatred… and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion maybe we’d know some kind of peace… but we would be hollow… Empty rooms shuttered and dank. Without passion we’d be truly dead. ~ Joss Whedon