Passion?

The print on the Tazo Passion herbal infusion wrapper reads, "True passion is intoxicating and invigorating, soothing and sensuous, mysterious and magical."

I wouldn't know this from experience these days; there's a paucity of passion in my life.  So I drink the purple tea, smirk, and curse my fate.  If I can't experience passion, at least I can drink it.  However, I didn't have to pay for it; my coworker gave me the teabag to sample.

Yes, I've officially entered the "pitiable" state.

Oh, shit.  I didn't think it was that noticeable.

Truth is, my life lately resembles a warped shampoo-like commercial:  Make plans.  Cancel plans (last minute).  Repeat.

It's all good.  I needed my eyebrows waxed and my hair trimmed anyway, so it wasn't a complete waste.

I've been handling the disappointment with aplomb, except for last night when a new student inquired to my marital state.  "Are you married?" he brazenly asked.  I looked at him and smiled, "No."  "Too bad; you have nice hands for a ring."  I smiled. I'm sure my hands trembled because I know my soul did, but I continued helping him with refining his thesis statement without missing a beat.  Yes, a consummate professional even in a distraught state.  His commentary rattled me, and I didn't realize how shaken I was until I couldn't find where I parked my car in Center City.

I'm OK today; that was last night, and the demons are more fierce in the evening.

The flowers are still living; their longevity taunts me.  It's not the flowers' fault, but I knew from the parking-lot breakup that they would live a very long time since that's how things work out.