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Distracting questions

May 21, 2008
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I am trapped at work again. I’ll be here tonight until really late and I have gotten to the point that I can’t brush aside those gnawing questions that I am usually able to ignore. And it’s distracting me from my work. I can’t go home until the work is done and I will work better if I’m not distracted.

So, in an effort to refocus I’m writing down what’s going on in my mind.

It’s confusing and embarrassing but I have to do something. Besides I’m sure that I’ve said something worse. And honestly, if you don’t think I’m a moron already I don’t know if you ever will.

So here goes. The things taunting me. Those things I can ignore in the daylight — or when I’ve had enough sleep — or when I’ve had any kind of satisfying human contact. It’s him and you and love and sex and fat.

Have you ever been in love? I mean really in love? It’s funny because sometimes I think I have. But the rest of the time I hope I haven’t yet. Because how many chances does one person really get in that game? You only get three strikes in baseball. You only get ten yards in football. Heck, they only give you 24 seconds in professional basketball.

So how many strikes does the Universe give us in the game of love? How many yards do we have to advance before we lose possession? How many moments are we given to make it work? And what if I’ve used mine up? What if the last guy was my third strike, my last down, my 24th second before the buzzer – my final chance.

And I wasted it all on a guy who doesn’t even want me.

AH! Intense right. Or maybe you think it’s pathetic. Well no matter what you think I miss him.

Part of the reason I miss him is because I’m wondering what I did wrong. Was there something I could have done differently that would have made the outcome different?

If I had just bunted instead of swinging for the fence, would I have made it to first base and eventually gotten home?

Or should I have gone for a hand off to the running back instead of that deep throw down-center? Is it my fault that it never connected? Or should I blame the wide receiver?

I really feel a lot like I did when I was in the sixth grade holding that basketball. I was too far from the hoop to shoot and make it, but I had stopped dribbling. Time to pass or shoot…and I’m paralyzed and there’s already 23 seconds on the clock.

Okay, hopefully that cleared my mind enough to finish my job and go home to bed. And hopefully his face won’t be behind my eyelids like they were last night.

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