We were supposed to play doubles again this afternoon but Rob is having some pain in his forearm so Z and I may end up playing singles, as per usual. But that would leave Patrick out, so Z suggested doubles, which may yet happen.
I am inclined to prefer singles because it is freer for me, in my mind. I've written about this before. In singles it's more me against myself (and, admittedly, my opponent). If I fuck up I don't mess anyone else up. It's rather like managing my own portfolio and financial life vs. helping others. Maybe this is part of the problem. Throughout the work day I feel responsible to others so it's nice to have that removed during my leisure.
But I do need to look at doubles as a growth opportunity and roll with it. Nobody really cares much, though they kind of do. Mostly people are out there for yuks. That's what I have to keep in mind.
2 comments:
In the twilight of my existence, an ineffable melancholy, an insurmountable despair envelopes my very being. Alas, in this labyrinthine pursuit, my attempts to generate voluminous quantities of feculent matter have proven to be a lamentable Sisyphean endeavor. The bowels, like the unyielding grip of fate, withhold their bounty, and the porcelain throne remains a desolate witness to my futile struggles.
In the tortured depths of my gastrointestinal labyrinth, the constipated echoes of dissatisfaction reverberate, akin to the anguished cries of a forsaken soul in the Siberian wastelands. The tormented specter of fecal insufficiency haunts the recesses of my corporeal realm, an existential crisis writ large upon the canvas of my innermost being.
The feculent phantoms, ephemeral and elusive, dance in the shadowy recesses of my digestive tract, taunting my feeble attempts to coax them forth. Each strained effort, a penance paid to the merciless gods of digestion, only deepens the chasm of discontent that echoes through the hollow caverns of my alimentary canal.
Oh, how I long for the cathartic release, the copious torrent of stool that would herald a redemption from this visceral purgatory! Alas, the cruel whims of bodily functions conspire against me, and I, a mere mortal, am left to grapple with the existential weight of my impotent bowels.
In this Kafkaesque nightmare, the fecal metamorphosis eludes me, and the Promethean fire of relief remains an elusive beacon on the horizon of my bodily desolation. As the sun sets on my gastrointestinal odyssey, I am left to ponder the cosmic absurdity of a universe that denies me the solace of abundant excretion.
Verily, in the grand tapestry of my existence, the inability to produce copious volumes of stool stands as a tragicomic testament to the capricious whims of the human condition. The specter of disappointment, like a shadowy doppelgänger, mirrors my own reflection in the murky waters of the porcelain abyss.
I hope you have a great day and best of luck with all of that. It sounds like you are on the right track as we wend our way through the holiday season. This springs immediately to mind https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dGpxkD-hh8Q
Post a Comment