Neighbors...

Walking home from my appointment at dusk.  Walking down my street, in my neighborhood, on my block.  Group of kids in front of me, walking slowly, taking up the sidewalk.  I walk around them, between the parking meters and the parked cars.  Passing the tiny girl up front, she yells at me, "You best say 'escuse me!'  I got kids here!  An' you don't say 'escuse me??'"  I hadn't bumped into her.  Hadn't touched her at all.  Her kids, a boy and girl about five or six years old, were on the other side of her from me; I was nowhere near them.  She hadn't had to so much as move an inch to avoid me at all.  I had simply walked around her.  And now she's angrily demanding an apology from me, as if I had done something inexcusably rude.  Never in my life has anyone ever said "excuse me" for simply walking past me.  For bumping into me, or getting in my way, certainly.  But not for simply walking by.  Nor has anyone in my entire life ever expected me to excuse myself or apologize simply for walking around them.  She's deliberately provoking me.  And I don't understand why.  I haven't done anything wrong.  But I'm suddenly very aware that each of these kids is black, and I am white.  And this confrontation we're having is our neighborhood, to the core.  This is our home.

I've lived in my neighborhood for over fifteen years now.  This girl staring me down with angry eyes looks to only be about twenty, give or take five years.  It's possible that I was living here before she was even born.  I went to school in this neighborhood when I was a child.  I feel like this is as much my home as hers.  But she has no way of knowing this.  This has been a traditionally black neighborhood for over a hundred and fifty years.  Back then, it was the Freemen's quarter; the first people to settle on this particular piece of ground were freed slaves.  This has been a black neighborhood from the very first brick.  But a few years ago, it started to get very, very gentrified.  Rich, white developers came in and swooped up cheap properties, fixed them up with marble counter-tops and hardwood floors and halogen track lights.  Sold them to rich, white hipsters who wanted to live close to the burgeoning downtown bar scene.  Back then, I was the only white person living in my apartment complex.  Developers bought it and turned it into a condo.  We all got letters saying we needed to buy our apartments or find someplace else to live.  I bought mine.  Everyone else left.  And since then the neighborhood has been this uneasy mix of poor black living side-by-side with rich white.  And I've seen it.  Seen exactly this happening before.  But this is the first time I've experienced it myself.  She doesn't know me anymore than I know her.  We're both making assumptions about each other.  She has no way of knowing that I went to school around the corner, or that I've lived on this block my entire adult life.  All she sees is another doughy white, nerdy-looking hipster who had the fucking nerve to walk too close to her without showing her proper respect.

Things escalate very quickly.  "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be rude.  I just walked around you."  "You best watch who you talkin' to 'for I smack yo' fat ass!"  There's no good way to respond here.  What am I supposed to do?  Fight these kids?  Let them beat me up?  Why?  So they can feel better about themselves?  So I can feel better about feeling better than them?  And there's clearly no reasoning with someone who, within a matter of seconds, is willing to resort to threats of physical violence with someone twice her size for something as minor as stepping around them.  Talking about it any further is clearly pointless.  There's no reasoning with a bully.  I learned that lesson the hard way, long ago.  No choice but to simply end this as quickly and quietly as possible.  I turn and walk away.  To more taunts and threats thrown at my back.  Victory cheers for having driven out the interloper, the outsider.  For having proved her strength and dominance to the rest of the tribe.  For having earned back the respect I somehow stripped her of by walking past her.  I'm instantly ten years old again.  On the playground again.  Having my dignity stolen by a pack of fifth grade delinquents again.  Being called "fat ass" again.  Feeling like an outcast again.  Feeling scared again.  For the first time in fifteen years, I feel scared in my own neighborhood.  For the first time ever, I feel like this isn't my home, and never will be.  I will never be welcome here.  I let them make me feel like an outsider in my own neighborhood.  I let these kids make me feel scared in my own home.  I don't feel like I had any choice.  And there's some part of me that feels I deserve it.

Plusses and Minuses...

I'm making a conscious effort to be more expressive here, and treat it more like an opportunity to be creative every day, rather than just a daily online journal.

Solve Your Equation
Simplify Your Expression
Do The Fucking Math

Mathematics makes
My mind reel in ecstasy
God's breath in my ear

The Story of X
Affects me as if it were
The Story of O

I write shitty poetry because I need to express something, but I don't have the time to write the stories that I really want.

I need to note here, briefly, how difficult this is for me to do.  I really do hate just about everything I've ever written, in any format, and it shames me terribly to be putting it out here for the whole world to see.  But at the same time, I feel that if I kept it to myself, I'd just never even bother with it in the first place.  (Because then, who would know but me, right?  Light is the best disinfectant...)  So, as humiliating as it is sometimes, it's also the very thing that helps to motivate me.

Like I said to myself last week:  It's not about Good or Bad.  It's about doing it.  Period.

I'm trying to keep that in mind, every time I cringe at posting another piece of worthless, self-indulgent, self-absorbed drivel.

Kickball - Week 11...

We lost.

Both games.

By a lot.

And I'm sorry, folks, but I just don't have the will to go into my usual level of excruciating detail about the experience this time.  I've just got much better things to do with my life than record every particle of my humiliation here.

It stopped being funny awhile ago.

Next week is the Quarterfinals (don't take the fact that we're in the Quarterfinals as a sign of our skill at all; every team is in the Quarterfinals), and if we lose our game (which is a safe bet, to say the least), then that will be my blessedly-last game.

I whole-heartedly look forward to the sense of accomplishment I will feel at that point, as my only reward for these weeks and months of embarrassment and sacrifice.  Hell, I may even join everyone else at the League Happy Hour afterwards, for once.

Kickball - Week 10...

Half our team didn't even show up again this week, including our pitcher.  It was hot, humid, and buggy out there last night, and, unsurprisingly, we got our asses handed to us, again.

POSITION:

          -once again, traded innings with the old guy out in left field - he originally had me out there the
           whole game, and had two of the girls trading innings, until someone pointed out that according
           to league rules, that would be mean we wouldn't have enough girls in the field every inning - so
           the girls got to play the whole game, and I only got to play half the game

          -one ball got kicked along the ground into left field, and I ended up having to run for it - trying to
           get it back to the infield to stop the runner heading for Home, I only managed to throw it an
           embarrassing ten feet (that ball is so big, and so light, that it's basically impossible to throw it
           with any distance or accuracy, unless you have gigantic, basketball-player hands - which I do
           not) - the runner ended up scoring easily

          -in the last inning, a ball was kicked right to me - perfect arc, straight to my chest - I didn't
           even have to take a single step in any direction - all I had to do was not drop it - and I
           FINALLY managed to do something right! - I caught the fucking ball!  In an actual
           game! - that was the third out to end their half of the inning, and my very first (and so far, only)
           out of the season

          -I felt pretty good about that, for about ten seconds - then everyone started to congratulate
           me - I know they were trying to be nice, and encouraging, and I know that I'm supposed to
           have enjoyed the praise and felt good about what I'd done, but it just ended up souring the
           whole experience for me - they were all so overly-congratulatory - "Wow!  Way to go, man!
           Good job!  I know you've been waiting for that one for a long time!  Awesome!  Great
           catch!" - even people on the other team were coming up and literally patting me on the back
           and saying "Great catch, man!" - but it wasn't a great catch! - it was the easiest catch in the
           fucking world! - and everyone overflowing with gratitude at my ability to not fuck up the easiest
           play of the game just seemed to exacerbate my humiliation

          -again, I know that I really should've taken the compliment for what it was and just been happy
           to receive the support and congratulations - and I honestly wish I could've - but it all just came
           across more like "Pats for Patrick" than honest praise for a job well-done

AT THE PLATE:

          -the first few games in the season I was kicking away, and getting on base a little less than
           half the time - then our coach decided we should all be bunting - my first bunting game went
           well, but since then it's been nothing but easy pop-outs caught by the pitcher or (even worse)
           the catcher, and I've only made it on base once with a bunt since that first game

          -so, this game, I decided to hell with my coach, I'm going to start kicking away again - unless
           I'm the first kicker in the inning, because strategy dictates that the first kicker should always
           bunt to try to get on base - besides, I've only been the first kicker in the inning one other time
           all season

          -I was the first kicker in the inning for both of my kicks this game

          -went ahead and bunted - both were easy outs - another dreaded pop-out caught by the
           catcher, and one where I actually managed to get off a bit of a kick, but they were just quicker
           than me and threw me out at 1st

FINAL:

          -we scored 1 run - they scored many, many, many more

INJURIES:

          -only emotional

Taking It...

Picking up my computer on the way home tonight, and spending the bulk of my night setting it up again.  I'm so happy I could shit my pants!

The yang to that happy yin seems to be my SMART meeting last night.  Every time I do my "check-in" lately (what they call taking your turn to speak) I just end up feeling embarrassed, and like I made an ass of myself.  And worse, I can't tell if I really did make an ass out of myself, or if I'm just being self-conscious.  Either way, the net result is that I end up feeling like I really don't want to go to these meetings anymore.  But I don't feel like I can stop, either.

I'm really not enjoying the experience; but, then again, is this an experience that you're really supposed to enjoy?  It's about learning and getting healthy, not having fun.  And I'd really like my Tuesday nights back (I could be volunteering at the planetarium if I didn't have to do this instead, which I'd much rather do), but inconvenience hardly seems like a good excuse to stop going.  You know what's really inconvenient?  A drug habit.

And I don't know if these meetings are doing me any good.  And that's the main reason why I still feel like I have to go:  I don't know if these meetings are doing me any good or not.  If I knew for a reasonable certainty that these meetings were not helping me much, then I would feel perfectly fine with deciding to stop going.  But if I stop now, without having answered that question, then I'm just quitting; I'm just giving up.  And as much as I'm not enjoying this, and as much as I don't seem to be getting much out of it beyond embarrassment, I'd be really upset with myself if I just gave up.

I keep coming back to this lesson again and again all over my life.  I think it's one of the big things I'm trying to tackle through this process.  It's not simply about not drinking and not getting high for the next year.  What I'm really trying to do, is learn how to take it.  When my life sucks, and I'm stuck doing things that I don't want to do, and I'm unhappy with the way things are going, and there's nothing I can do to change it, then just shut the fuck up and take it.  You can't be happy all the time.  Sometimes you have to do things that you don't want to do and that make you unhappy.  And when you ease those pains with chemicals, that makes you weak.  And you come to rely on those chemicals, because you're not strong enough to simply put up with those feelings of stress and depression and unhappiness on your own.

So, I'm learning endurance here.  I'm working out my "acceptance muscle," and it's getting stronger.  I'm a lot stronger than I used to be, because I never bothered to work it out at all before.  Whenever I had to use that muscle, and whenever it got sore, I'd soothe it with the painkillers of booze, and pot - and sometimes even actual painkillers.  But now I'm using it, and working it out, and getting stronger, and learning to accept that sometimes I have to just shut the fuck up, and take it, and do what I have to do, instead of what I want to do.

Like going to these stupid fucking meetings.

Kickball - Week 8...

Half our team didn't even show up this week.  (And, honestly, I can't blame them.  We're the worst team in the league, by far.  Every other team has beat us, some of them twice.  We're the only team out there every week that doesn't at least have a shot at winning.)  If one more player hadn't shown up, we wouldn't have had enough to officially play, and would've had to forfeit.  And the other team (2nd best in the league) had a full roster.

As you can imagine, we never had a chance.

POSITION:

          -the upside of having so few players show up was that I got to do more this game
          -I covered center field and 2nd base, so I got to move around a lot more
          -still never saw any action, though - everyone kicked right or left, and there was never a play at
           2nd base

AT THE PLATE:

          -again, because of the light roster, I got to do more at the plate - I kicked an unprecedented
           four times this game
          -three of them were easy pop-outs, and one was a walk - at least I got on base this time
          -for those keeping score (me), that's 8 easy pop-outs out of my last 9 kicks - I do alright in
           practice, but then I can't seem to repeat the same thing in the game, and I don't know why -
           I'm not nervous at all up there, honestly, so it's not like I'm choking - I don't get it!

FINAL:

          -I stopped counting when they hit double-digits

INJURIES:

          -actually managed to get in a workout this time, with all the running around and extra kicking
           and stuff
          -but I'm getting used to it, so no injuries or anything - wasn't even sore afterwards
          -oh, wait! - I did manage to somehow pull an ab muscle trying to catch a pop-fly in practice -
           no idea how that works

Kickball - Week 7...

Another hard fought game (by the rest of the team, at least - I didn't do a damn thing), and another heartbreaking loss by one run in the last inning.

Why do I keep doing this??  I don't want to do this anymore, I'm not having any fun, I'm exhausted, gods know I add no value or worth to my team whatsoever, and I'm not even getting any exercise.  So why do I keep doing this to myself?

I guess because I don't want to quit more than I don't want to play kickball anymore.  I guess because I at least want the satisfaction of completing the season, seeing as it is likely the only satisfaction I'm going to get out of the experience.

POSITION:

          -he had me in Left field for odd innings - even innings, the old guy took the spot
          -some of the girls (not all of them) also had to split innings this way - so I'm grouped with the
           girls and the old guy - Awesome.
          -no balls came anywhere near Left field the whole game

AT THE PLATE:

          -both my kicks were easy outs - I never even made it to 1st base - and both my outs were the
           third out to end the inning
          -my first kick I managed to somehow bunt the ball directly behind me and straight into the
           arms of the catcher, for the shortest pop-fly out in kickball history - I was right there, saw it
           with my own eyes, and still do not understand how it happened - it seemed to defy all known
           physics - unless the ball was made of iron and the catcher's hands were actually magnets -
           another classic "this could only happen to me" moment
          -although, I did feel slightly vindicated when one of our best kickers managed to kick the ball
           into their own face this game

FINAL:

          -who gives a fuck

INJURIES:

          -didn't hurt myself, because I didn't do a goddamned thing the whole game
          -half the innings I sat on the bench watching the game, the other innings I stood in the field
           watching the game - and I never ran more than ten feet from home plate either time I kicked
          -big fucking woo

Bride of Blurble...

Finally caught up on all my work, email, etc. that's piled up during the past few days of PC Swap Madness.  Feels good to be done with that.  Not only because I don't have to deal with it anymore, but the feeling of accomplishment is quite pleasant, as well.

I'm really tired, though.  Been extra busy and out late pretty much every night, plus I've been pushing myself at the gym extra hard this week (might've picked the wrong week to start back in on the weights - ouch).  I've been getting to bed early to try and make up for it, but it hasn't been enough; I'm still utterly exhausted every morning.

I really, really do not want to go play kickball right now.  I do not have the energy, and after last game, it's lost any sense of fun or enjoyment it might've once held for me.  Half-an-hour ago, the sky was black with clouds, and the wind was whipping the trees back and forth.  Seemed certain that we were about to get hit with a major thunderstorm.  Thought my prayers had been answered.  Now the sky is clear and blue, the wind has died down, and there is no sign at all of that huge thunderstorm anywhere.

What the hell?!

I'm disappointed in you, Thor.


Ugh.  Guess it's time to go suit up and humiliate myself for the evening.  Oh, joy.  Will me luck.

(Some skill wouldn't hurt, either.)

(Why couldn't we have had a softball team??  I can play softball!  I can catch softballs, I can throw softballs, I can even fucking hit softballs!  But, no, we had to play with a giant, red, bouncy ball, just so that I can go out there every Thursday night and feel like an eight year-old girl.  Awesome.)

(And by "awesome," I mean, "completely fucking weak.")

(Ugh.)

Kickball - Week 6...

One of the most humiliating experiences of my adult life.  (And I only say "my adult life," because my childhood was basically just one, long, extended humiliating experience.)

POSITION:

          -played 2nd base in both games, which was certainly an improvement over the outfield

          -still dropped both balls that came near me

          -only other action I saw was one throw to my base, where the shortstop (who is also our
           coach) ran over to try and catch the ball a foot in front of me - guess he didn't have much
           confidence that I'd be able to catch it myself - and who could blame him - oh, and he dropped
           the ball

AT THE PLATE:

          -got two base-hits out of five at-bats - hardly a stellar record - never got farther than 2nd base

FINAL:

          -we lost both games

          -we lost the first game by double-digits - worst score of the season so far for us - it was just
           one error after another - two of our best players didn't even show up until halfway through the
           first inning - at one point, someone on the other team actually scored an inside-the-park
           home run (that's a new one!) because we kept making error after error trying to get him out - I
           was just glad when that one was over

          -second game we played against the team we tied last time - we played this game hard - we
           played our asses off - we played with heart - we were already exhausted, but we really
           wanted this win - we kept the score really tight the whole game, made only a couple of errors,
           and had a good shot to win - in the bottom of the last inning, down by one run, I basically lost
           the game for our team - yeah, that feels good

INJURIES:

          -feel like I drove my left hip up into my fucking shoulder

          -my shins feel like Freddy Krueger is using them to play a fucking harp solo

          -I hurt real bad

Kickball - Week 4...

This was, by far, the most humiliating experience I've had with this so far.  It was like middle-school all over again.

POSITION:

          -the humiliation began when he actually benched me for the first two innings - he put the old
           guy with the limp (who has dropped every single ball that has come anywhere near him) on
           2nd base, for fuck's sake! - felt a little better when he switched out the old guy and put me on
           2nd for the 3rd and 4th innings, but then he put the old guy back in for the 5th and 6th!

           -that might have something to do with my one and only play at 2nd - in the 4th inning, a guy
           was running from 1st, and they threw me the ball very late - it hit my hands and immediately
           bounced out (kickballs are so bouncy that they're actually surprisingly hard to catch) - as I
           reached out to retrieve it, the runner ran straight into me, slamming his shoulder into my ear
           and almost knocking me over - luckily, he overran the base (ought to give you some idea how
           hard he hit me) and someone else managed to get the ball and tag him out before he could
           get back to 2nd - still, hardly a stellar play for me

AT THE PLATE:

          -I could not hit from this pitcher! - he threw these ridiculously bouncy curveballs - he walked a
           lot of kickers, honestly, but I was unfortunately not one of them - every pitch he threw me that
           looked like it was going to be a ball, would suddenly veer at the last second and turn into a
           strike - and every ball he threw that looked like a strike would suddenly bounce at the last
           second, so that I would end up ineffectively "kicking" it with my shin instead of my foot

          -I managed to "kick" three balls that way - the first one flew straight upwards off of my shin
           and slammed directly into my own face - ?! - I've never seen anything like that before! - so, of
           course, it would happen to me - now do you understand when I say it was like middle-school
           all over again? - to their credit, at least no one laughed - at least, not that I heard

          -the other two "kicks" were lazy pop-flys that never even made it to the pitcher's mound, and
           were easily caught - for the last one, the bases were loaded, we were down 4-1, and I was the
           final out to end the inning, meaning that even though we'd managed to load the bases, thanks
           to me, we hadn't scored a single run

FINAL:

          -Ok, here's where it gets interesting - we'd been down 4-1 since the 2nd inning - now it's the
           final inning, and we get a runner on base - then we get a second runner on base, but he
           manages to hurt himself running to 1st, so we need a pinch runner - as the last person out,
           that "honor" falls to me - here I was sitting on the sidelines, thinking "well, at least it's finally
           over and I won't have to embarrass myself anymore," and then suddenly I have to go run for
           this guy - and, of course, the final humiliation being that, the only way I managed to get on
           base all game was when someone else got hurt

          -so the next kicker gets out, but I manage to run to 2nd base before they can get me - next
           kicker also gets out, but our runner on 3rd manages to make it home, so now it's 4-2, with 2
           outs in the last inning, and I'm the only runner, on 2nd base - next guy gets a single, but it's
           kicked toward 3rd base, so I don't run, and so now we have runners on 1st and 2nd, and I
           have to run on the next kick - next kick is a pop-fly, and it looks like it's all over for us, but
           their pitcher drops the ball! - so I haul ass to 3rd base, and the pitcher throws the ball at
           me/towards 3rd to try and get me out, but he overthrows both me and the base, sending the
           ball into the outfield - so I round 3rd and keep going, booking it toward Home Plate - I see the
           ball sail over my head toward the catcher - I see him catch the ball, standing on top of Home
           Plate, and look directly at me, running straight toward him - I can't stop now, so I run straight
           at him, trying my best not to completely bowl him over, knowing that I'm out, again, and that
           this one ended the game, and that now we've lost, again, and that it's all my fault, again

          -And then I hear the Ump call, "Safe!" - everyone, myself included, simultaneously says,
           "What?!" - apparently, since the catcher was holding the ball against his chest, and standing
           directly on Home Plate, that meant I ran into the catcher, the ball and Home Plate at the
           same time, which means I was Safe - if the catcher had held the ball out in front of him, away
           from his chest, so that I hit the ball before I hit him and the plate, then I would've been out -
           but he didn't, so I wasn't

          -Holy Shit!  I managed to actually score a run!  And somehow, I did it without even getting a
           base hit

          -But then, even better, we got another base hit, and another run, to tie the game at 4-4! - so
           now we're thinking, "Awesome!  We didn't lose again!" - but then, miraculously, we got
           another base hit, and another run, so now the game's over, and it's 4-5, and WE WON!

          -Holy fucking shit, the Bad News Bears managed to win a game! - In the last inning! - With
           two outs! - WTF?!

          -So, now were 2-2 for the season.  Hallelujah. 

INJURIES:

          -Even though I collided with other players on two separate occasions, and managed to kick a
           ball into my own face, surprisingly I walked away without a scratch on me - not even so much
           as a sore muscle

          -Guess it turned out to be a good day, after all.