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I will not complain today.

No, I will not.  No whining from me.  No.  Bad, Nick.  Bad.  I am very sorry for being such a whiny complainer, but I’m just so damn worn down at this point that I can barely think.  I’m seeing double, nodding off at the wheel, and forgetting to do important things like wipe my baby’s nose or brush my teeth.

But everyone reaches this place sometime.  It’s the nexus, the crossroads, the pouring buckets that proverbially occur whenever it rains (what a stupid, inaccurate aphorism that one is).  Everything is due yesterday, tests and changes are rolling up on me like… something big that rolls… boulders… or really fat people with no arms or legs.  I’m just not sure that I can get everything done to everyone’s expectations, and I’ve already let down a few people this week by my lack of preparation and gusto.

That’s the fear, isn’t it?

The letdown.  The failing.  The disappointment you hear in the voice of the person that just tossed you the ball.  They didn’t know that you can’t catch.  They thought you’d snag that ball and run with it, making them proud.

Well, they should have talked to my dad first.  He could tell you flat out that nary a ball flew my way that I couldn’t drop, fumble, or put my head into.

Wait.  Because I was using the ball catching thing as a metaphor for my failures in life, that makes it sound like I’m saying that my dad is disappointed in me as a person.  I don’t think that’s the case.  I hope it’s not the case anyway.

He is still disappointed in me as an athlete, though.  He played sports in school and I almost failed grade 10 gym.  I still can’t hit a free throw more than one time in twenty and avoid handling footballs for fear of catching the stupid virus.

What was I saying again?

Right.  Balls.  Balls dropping.  That was it.

So if this post seems a bit off today, it’s because I’m dropping my balls everywhere.

 

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