Sadly enough, it’s the last Sunday with more than one game until sometime next September. I know what you’re thinking. Last means last. So why did I use that word? Read on…
Wait for it…
Wait for it again…
And wait for it this one last time…
Basically, I used the word last because I was writing my opening statement with the intent of partly revealing my feelings on how fast the season had passed. Plus, there’s always hope. Hope of days passing fast enough so September doesn’t seem such a long way from now.
Time goes slow in places that make us introspective. Sometimes it seems these places are the locales where we work. Other times it could be a bad night out. In both environments, we would like the time to pass faster so the time spent doing whatever we do isn’t taken up by our own feelings about something related or otherwise.
You should just be able to focus on what you’re doing at any given moment.
But it’s not always that simple or easy. Being in the moment takes work.
You have to be ready for the moment, not letting your mind drift from one thing to the next.
Right now I’m supposed to be focused on this. But, my dogs are taking a nap.
The symbolism screams this piece is headed towards sleep-inducing.
When did reading something that made you fall asleep ever get blamed for the end of the world?
Um, never.
I must give you a little more info. There’s a cold drizzle falling outside. It’s also 32 degrees, with just enough wind to leave you saying things to your significant other like, “Hey, where’s the extra blanket?” Down in the wash.
Suddenly, the soles of my socked feet feel cold. Say that three times fast.
Cold weather brings the masses of the immediate family together. The living room becomes both the study and well, the living room.
Music might be playing.
There might be someone in the adjacent kitchen making themselves a snack.
I’m in here all the while typing as the dogs, well, aren’t.
They’re still taking a nap
The universe can be cruel, always more bent on sharing punishment and praise for various things. Like every time you do something good, something bad seems to be just around the corner. For me, just around the corner is a bathroom. And so is a bedroom.
Boom.
The snore of the dogs begins to put me under.
I fight.
I fight harder.
I make my mind be still as the blender is cranking mightily in the kitchen behind me.
I’m both being in the moment and giving way to the temptation of taking a nap in the guest room, which I never do, I might add.
Every good story will hopefully get told.
This is too disjointed to be regarded as a good story.
It’s perhaps best described as a tale of a living room turned every room to everybody.
On the last Sunday with more than one game.