Much like the various members of popular British-American rock band Foreigner, I have often wanted to know what love is. Nor, as is the case with Mick Jones et al., have I neglected to ask this or that individual to provide a simple, illustrative demonstration of same (i.e. love).
And what has the result been, reader? Up till recently: disappointment, almost exclusively. Heartache and pain, one might even say — were one interested, that is, in providing another pair of relevant nouns. Even this so-called “wife” of mine — all she does every day is to catalog my myriad flaws, as if I weren’t aware of them already. No way for a man to live, has been my assessment of the conditions as mentioned.
The recent purchase of the newest Baseball America Prospect Handbook, however, has improved my affairs considerably. Instead of darkness, the world is full of sweetness and light. A bird sings in every tree. My Netflix queue is suddenly crowded with titles I never even knew existed and yet appear certain to amuse me. All the normal signs of blessedness, in other words.
More than anything, what I’ve been compelled to realize is that love is a real thing — and it’s not just about getting sexy on a five-piece imitation leather sectional couch that you got when your aunt died or getting really sexy at an Econo Lodge out by the airport and on which you got a good deal because of the Rewards Points you’ve collected from work.
No. Rather, love is having dependable reading material for those times when, for example, you’re compelled to attend your niece’s middle-school concert or for commutes back and forth from your pitiful job that will be the cause of your forgotten death or when you’ve just finished getting sexy at an Econo Lodge by the airport. Love is deep and love is abiding and love costs about $32 at a local bookstore (and probably less than that elsewhere).
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