Of course I'm happy. And relieved. And it's not like I don't believe in the viability of post-breakup reconciliation. After all, my own marriage is the product of--let me count--at least five breakups and reconciliations, not to mention much murky business in between (and if the last several weeks of Red Sox front office shenanigans don't count as murky business, I don't know what does).
And yet.
It's just that happiness and relief are so...so tame after the grand drama of pain. My heart did not rush up at yesterday's news of Theo's return as it plunged down the day Theo abandoned us.
Is it the anti-climax? The ambiguity (you gotta admit, it's hard to thrill at the words "full-time baseball operations capacity, details of which will be announced next week")? The mid-winter post-Patriots apathy?
Or is it some kind of emotional masochism that secretly prefers the drama of pain to the pleasantries of pleasure?
I'm not quite sure, but could we please just get a center fielder and a shortstop already?
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