2021-11-04 - 8:34 a.m.

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I watched The Bridges of Madison County a couple of nights ago. l liked it; it was very well done. Well done enough, that it made me feel wistful. I don't spend a much time pining for romance, but I sure did feel the acute lack of it there for a minute. Not for long at all (I've come completely to my senses again), but long enough to come in here and write out a few thoughts that night that, thank GOODNESS, got knocked into the ether upon "save" and disappeared completely. I forgot that part of the events, however, and then, during my morning routine today I suddenly stopped, wide-eyed, and raised my head in realization as my memory flashed, like a gazelle sensing imminent danger at the watering hole. I dashed to the computer to see what potentially embarrassing tripe I had left here in my moment of temporary insanity, and was much relieved to see my safe, prior entry pop up. I was very glad that my thoughts, after having watched handsome Clint lay his heart at Francesca's feet in that Iowa kitchen, remained only mine. They were as temporary as the crush you have for a few hazy hours, after dreaming fondly of an acquaintance you never saw "that way" before.

I'm pleased that the universe chose to help me keep the personal, personal. Some things are better left unmewled.

Sidenote: Clint was 65 when he shot that film. Proof positive that not all men lose their flava, or their dental appeal, with age. I'd hit it.

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