Wounded Player Out for the Remainder of the Season (or Life)
I think I am suffering from Post Calcio love game trauma
My luck in the Italian love life arena is a little like a backwater Canadian Hockey team. It shows a lot of glittering possibilities from the start of the opening home game, everybody is excited and things are progressing nicely. Then just before we might be propelled into the high stakes big league, the pressure becomes too much and the much talked about and idolized superstar chokes, usually ending up in the penalty box or worse, with their face and my reputation smudged for their public indiscretion with other women.
kinda like burlesconi...
I’m starting to think that asking for a face to face meeting with the little philosopher was a really bad idea. Not because of the social ridicule or the "L what are you thinking!!!!!" dilemma seeing him again would bring my way, but because there is a really good possibility, seeing that he’s male and Italian and I’m me (and therefore a softy for such), I might just believe his excuses about the whole sordid affair or even worse still, that he will actually take the cowardly way out of it and never actually call and follow through with the meeting.
The only thing worse than getting involved with a little philosopher is being dismissed by a little philosopher. If anyone has the right to be doing the dismissing thing here it should be me right?!
My rank on this calcio team as the older citizen with egg on my face gives me first dibs on that right? And yet, I don't want to.
I want answers. What to know why my karma is what it is and I guess to know that I need to hear what he has to say for himself.
hmmmf!
I don’t think I will get over this soccer literary love match fiasco any time soon. Maybe it’s my fault we lost because I was walking around with my head in the clouds excited to have found someone who actually read and spoke intelligently and didn't just worry about the style of sunglasses that are in fashion this season.
Time to put myself on the injured reserve.
My luck in the Italian love life arena is a little like a backwater Canadian Hockey team. It shows a lot of glittering possibilities from the start of the opening home game, everybody is excited and things are progressing nicely. Then just before we might be propelled into the high stakes big league, the pressure becomes too much and the much talked about and idolized superstar chokes, usually ending up in the penalty box or worse, with their face and my reputation smudged for their public indiscretion with other women.
kinda like burlesconi...
I’m starting to think that asking for a face to face meeting with the little philosopher was a really bad idea. Not because of the social ridicule or the "L what are you thinking!!!!!" dilemma seeing him again would bring my way, but because there is a really good possibility, seeing that he’s male and Italian and I’m me (and therefore a softy for such), I might just believe his excuses about the whole sordid affair or even worse still, that he will actually take the cowardly way out of it and never actually call and follow through with the meeting.
The only thing worse than getting involved with a little philosopher is being dismissed by a little philosopher. If anyone has the right to be doing the dismissing thing here it should be me right?!
My rank on this calcio team as the older citizen with egg on my face gives me first dibs on that right? And yet, I don't want to.
I want answers. What to know why my karma is what it is and I guess to know that I need to hear what he has to say for himself.
hmmmf!
I don’t think I will get over this soccer literary love match fiasco any time soon. Maybe it’s my fault we lost because I was walking around with my head in the clouds excited to have found someone who actually read and spoke intelligently and didn't just worry about the style of sunglasses that are in fashion this season.
Time to put myself on the injured reserve.
posted by ~Sparrow | Sunday, February 04, 2007
3 Comments:
Your writing is nice even in sorrow. (also in the In Vino Veritas). I am sorry about your injury.
Wishing the Sparrow flies well soon!
Flying well enough, injuries are only as bad as you allow them to be and we have found a way to communicate....eheheheh ahh the joy of languages.
I hear you sista! I'm a walking romantic disaster.
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