First, I want you all to know that my gas tank is at the 1/2 way point, and I have already made plans to fill it up to the top (not just $10, Don - though I wish it only cost that much to fill 1/2 a tank) before I head out to my tennis match tomorrow.
Yes, I play tennis. No, I'm not a pro or even a semi-pro. Yes, I must be a spoiled brat that I can actually go play tennis for 2 hours 3-days a week in the beautiful Californian sunshine. No, I don't feel the least bit guilty about that.
Okay, that's not true, I feel a little guilty about that. After all, I could be doing
blogging, reading, thinking my own thoughts dishes, laundry, dusting, vacuuming, etc. etc. etc. But, I just supress those unwanted, dark, MADDENING, responsible thoughts and blithely go play tennis. Don't ask what happens when someone pulls at that thread by asking about the state of my home.
As I was standing on the tennis court today thinking about the beautiful sunshine, the crisp air cooling me off, and the competitive juices surging through me (did I mention the water cooler on the sidelines? Yeah, they have that too.), I was high on life. It felt great to be alive!
Until I missed my overhead, and choked the following return. Boy oh boy how reality loves to send us crashing down to earth. Why am I as good as Steffi Graf in my head, but I play like that blonde girl from the movie Fletch?