I'm possibly getting older than I realize. Last night became the final softball game of the summer for me. The team we played legitimately beat us. They had a bunch of hits against our stellar pitcher. They deserved to win. But when I came up last night with two outs and the tying run on first in a 5-3 game, I had the game on my shoulders. Not too long ago, that would have meant a run, perhaps two. I'd refuse to make an out in that situation and drive the ball down a line or in a gap. Last night, however, after getting up to a 2-2 count, I struck out on a pitcher's pitch: high in the zone, over the plate and hard to hit. Not my pitch, but with two strikes I couldn't afford to take the chance the ump would call it a ball. The second K of the season for me.
I'm not sure what will come of softball next year. Even though I don't play as often as I did last year, this commitment is still difficult. Work promises to be wose next year. I enjoy playing, but I don't know that I can do it at the level I expect of myself. My bat speed is slow for modified softball. My fielding is fine, but I'm definitely an infielder these days. I can't gun the ball from an outfield position like I did a decade ago.
Luckily, I don't have to make that decision now.
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Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Monday, August 9, 2004
Chapter 16.3: ... Different Day
Sometimes a day doesn't make any difference at all. Don't listen to those happy-go-crazy morons who prattle on and on about ways to improve your life. Better than nine times out of 10, can you honestly say today isn't pretty much what you expected it to be? Assuming you're a "middle-class American" like myself, you got up out of bed, put your clothes on, worked, and eventually went back to sleep. Along the way you ate, had a bunch of conversations, most of which ultimately meant nothing by the time you returned to your bed, and there were probably a few fantasies mixed into the day. Daydreams about what you'd do with no financial worries, sexual fantasies, or simple "where would I rather be now" moments.
Sure, life changes all the time, and it's impossible to know everything that's going to happen before it occurs. People will die suddenly, cars will collide, arguments will flare into nasty confrontations. But it's rare that three tomorrows from now, nine tomorrows from now, you will recognize how these moments altered you.
A bird flew into the front of my car yesterday. I was upset as I saw its body bounce on the road behind me, like some random soda can on the street. I had almost forgotten about it 12 hours later. But at the moment it occurred, it was all that mattered; if not for my driving before 7 a.m. on a sleepy Sunday, I could have had an accident. Perhaps this incident doesn't make a difference for the rest of my life. I have no idea. Maybe I needed that moment to remind me how precious life is -- though I think the two first aid calls that day would have helped accomplish that too.
There are countless "what-ifs" I could associate with that poor dead bird. Ultimately, we all find our final resting spot. Hopefully I'll make a difference before then. I guess I did for that sorry bird.
Sure, life changes all the time, and it's impossible to know everything that's going to happen before it occurs. People will die suddenly, cars will collide, arguments will flare into nasty confrontations. But it's rare that three tomorrows from now, nine tomorrows from now, you will recognize how these moments altered you.
A bird flew into the front of my car yesterday. I was upset as I saw its body bounce on the road behind me, like some random soda can on the street. I had almost forgotten about it 12 hours later. But at the moment it occurred, it was all that mattered; if not for my driving before 7 a.m. on a sleepy Sunday, I could have had an accident. Perhaps this incident doesn't make a difference for the rest of my life. I have no idea. Maybe I needed that moment to remind me how precious life is -- though I think the two first aid calls that day would have helped accomplish that too.
There are countless "what-ifs" I could associate with that poor dead bird. Ultimately, we all find our final resting spot. Hopefully I'll make a difference before then. I guess I did for that sorry bird.
Sunday, August 8, 2004
Chapter 16.2: The slate
Had a unique experience today -- unique for me. A friend's son is filming a movie. It's a small film, done on a budget of less than $1,000. None of the actors are paid (unless the film sells, I guess). The son, Ryan, has said repeatedly that he'll give me a cameo appearance. I don't need a cameo, but I do enjoy watching him film. Today, as one of the crew members had to leave to pick up an actor at the train station, I was put to work. My moment in the sun was a brief clap of the slate, having marked the scene.
Who knows, this experience may lead to a film version of my novel, once it's actually done. I printed out nearly 200 pages today; that's about two-thirds of the story, I suspect. If I reach my goal of completing the first draft this year, then I'll be able to assess the "filmability" of it better. I already see it in my head, but it would be incredible to see it on screen.
Who knows, this experience may lead to a film version of my novel, once it's actually done. I printed out nearly 200 pages today; that's about two-thirds of the story, I suspect. If I reach my goal of completing the first draft this year, then I'll be able to assess the "filmability" of it better. I already see it in my head, but it would be incredible to see it on screen.
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