I guess I must be devolving into a romance writer, fellow blogmates.  I suppose I'll have to try to make the best use whatever I've got left -- as some of you may know, I lost my wits and can't seem to find them.  Actually, I'm down to one wit and I'm offering it to you now because it is all I have to give. (In the immortal words of Yeats, tread lightly, for you tread on my dreams). 

You know you're smitten  . . .when it feels like the end of the world when The Person doesn't telephone you.  Your inner Wise Guy reminds you that you just spoke to them a few hours ago. You blush privately, feeling sheepish, but still loving how warm all the embarrassment feels inside your body. 

You know you're smitten when, pretending to be a grown up, you try to approach your monthly stack of bills and paperwork at your desk at home. You cling to your coffee mug with both hands for support, and for a goodly while, and, finally, you manage to clear your throat and sit up a little straighter.  Breathing deeply, you drop the first paper ceremoniously into a file, suddenly retrieving it. You realize that you have forgotten whether you are supposed to pay that bill, file it, or dispute it.  Your inner Wise Guy reminds you that you paid it twice, because you were smitten last month also. You swoon at your own idiocy, unable to recover from the latest lapse into reverie.

You know you're smitten when you wake up every single morning thinking about The Person.  Feeling adolescent at midlife, you vow to begin your day more maturely. Next morning, when They fail to appear before you in a vision at dawn, you feel betrayed, unworthy, un-ready to face the day without them.  Your inner Wise Guy reminds you that it was your idea to start your day without The Person in mind -- that you purposely and forcibly drove them off the front and center of your mental stage. You well up with tears at the truth of that revelation, begging The Person interiorly to forgive you, to come back, to never leave you again.

You know you're smitten when you converse aloud to The Person in your car, pretending that They are in the passenger's seat of your vehicle (placing your handbag in the back, to make room for them next to you).  It gets so bad that this morning you find yourself getting into the passenger seat yourself.  It becomes apparent after a few minutes of the car not moving a single millimeter that you had dreamily assumed that they would be driving today.

You know you're smitten when you write a blog post on the State of Your Heart-- a self mocking cry for help or commiseration. Your fellow blog mates hopefully sense that you're very sorry that you can't seem to write much politically these days -- your head seems to have turned to marshmallow.

Bowing your head, you hope that they will please kindly forgive you when they become aware -- when they come to realize -- at last, when they fully know . . . that you are smitten.