Falling for my hamster’s vet

I watched ‘Language Lessons’ last night,
and honestly, if my Spanish teacher had been Natalie Morales,
I would have fallen in love too, but then again,
what if Imogen Poots had followed through on her original plan
and become a veterinary surgeon? If I had gone to her
to get my hamster neutered (not that I have one),
would I have even noticed her, let alone fallen for?
So here’s the question: What are the origins of attraction?

(And for the record, I find Ms. Poots to be a stunning beauty,
but that’s beside the point—or is it?)

If I fled to Norway

If I fled to Norway with my bubble-wrapped dispositions and unbearable cravings,
would that be proof that I had finally shed the provincial attitude I was born with
or that I was a habitual procrastinator, constantly pushing aside the urgent need
to solve the mundane complexities of my pre-divorce life and start breathing again?

Perhaps I would have met a local songstress there, singing about listening to the ocean
and climbing her way in a tree—not that she would ever so much as glance at a bloke
almost twice her age—and felt my heart skip a beat once more. But that’s impossible,
because first I would have to shower, change, and hit the streets of Granite City, leaving

my granite tomb that I sometimes humbly call home.