to read all the post-game analysis to decompress. I don't think people understand how crushing a loss can be, unless you are a fanatic yourself.
It's only the first round.
Then on the weekend I gear up and try to play a little myself. I used to know where all the places to ball in San Diego were, had people to call to tell me to spots, it's just scrounging around to find games. Luckily, some guys I know from way back when still play together.
A lot of my summers were spent driving around to various gyms to check the games and see what the level of competition was. Nowadays I'm just happy to have nine other players around. That and I'm horrible. I've hit the point of "just don't get hurt" and that pretty much just means I'm invisible on the court. I feel terrible about it, but I also can't hustle for longer than a few minutes at the time and I am constantly worried that I'll break a finger or something. My fingers are so precious now. How else can I type?
My friend and I used to play one-on-one every day, and our word was "attack!" as in "attack the basket." Those days are long gone and I think it mirrors what happens in old(er) age. You stop attacking life. You just get worried about getting hurt and wondering what to eat afterwards. This summer, if I'm in San Diego, I'm gonna take back my game and get some respect back on the court. People used to be glad to see my show up for a game; now they mostly just want me to miss the free throw so I don't make the team.
In good news, the family business is looking good and my next few months should be smooth sailing. My mom has rarely been prouder even though really, I didn't do that much. She's kept the business running for the past few years with virtually no computer skills and an inexact command of English. Impressive. Now I'm here and trying to carry it through, and by chance a customer needed more back and forth this year. Last week that all settled itself out and if things work out like I think they will, it's gonna be a good year.
Now I can turn my attentions to what I'm supposed to do from here on out. Which is, um, what exactly?
Since the day the deal got done, every time I see one of my mom's friends they tell me "congratulations." Clearly my mom has been bursting at the seams to finally have something positive to tell her social network. The past month or so it's been all "let them (her friends) see your arm, how ugly it is." She is not a fan of the half sleeve. Not in the littlest bit. Sometimes she'll touch the ink and just shake her head.
"What is so terrifying about feelings? What is so dreadful about admitting that people have them? People have been having feelings for as long as people have been people, and we've developed, as a whole, a lot of really unproductive methods of coping with them and addressing them. One of the least effective of those methods is pretending they aren't happening. Women forced to suppress their emotions, to play nice, to not admit that something is hurting or angering them, have to smolder in silence until they explode. And when they explode, they do so rather spectacularly because they had no outlet."
-What's So Bad About Feelings Anyway?-
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