Last night was Ten’s first volleyball game of the year. They lost, but they played pretty well, so there’s plenty to build on as a team. She had a rough night, though.
Late in the third game, Ten had to sub for a player who had injured their ankle. After a few points she was up to serve, and while she’d had a couple of good ones earlier, this one was low and weak and softly went into the net.
Right as it did, an adult several people to my left began laughing. I don’t know if she was laughing at the play, but if she wasn’t, the timing was remarkably coincidental. Ten turned her head and looked into the stands. She had clearly heard it. She kept looking over whenever there was a break in the action. A couple points later our coach called timeout, and Ten immediately burst into tears.
After the game we talked about what happened, me coaxing what she heard and thought out of her, because if she didn’t hear someone laughing, I wasn’t about to toss that on her shit sandwich. Turns out she had, and it was super upsetting.
What I told her, paraphrased because I’m too old to remember my name verbatim, let alone a little speech I gave last night, was this:
Sometimes, adults are assholes.
And most of the time, you can’t change adults who are being assholes. They’re just assholes, and that’s all there is to it. So, there are two things to do:
First, don’t pay attention to what that asshole says, because, well, they’re an asshole. Just be happy that you don’t have to walk around every day being such an asshole all the time.
And second, work hard on your game, get better, and then shut that asshole up when you beat their shitty little kid.
I don’t know if that was the right advice, long term, but hearing dad go off on a profanity-laced rant on the drive home made my daughter feel better, so I’m going to call it a win.
I’m about to go into a meeting at 3:00pm.
On a Friday.
I’d ask you to pray for me, but clearly, God is already dead.
I’m not writing. At all.
Okay, so I’m writing work emails and such, but that isn’t writing so much as communication that happens to be written (there is a difference, and it’s HUGE).
When I get done with this post it will likely be the longest thing I’ve written in months, and again, it’s still not the same thing.
I’m not sure why this has been the case. I’m guessing it’s at least partially because my brain is still dealing with the upheaval that comes with the long process of selling and buying real estate, and now the process of acclimating to our new home and our new family member. It’s great, but it’s still very new, and while we’ve settled in physically, my head hasn’t caught up.
There’s also a fair amount of stuff going on at work - possible changes in my responsibilities, giant, looming, multi-year, enterprise-wide projects I’m likely to be heavily involved in - and all of that in combination seems to have me in a near-permanent state of overstimulation.
That said, all of this coincides with when I started taking my meds, so that could be a factor, too. If it is, then I’ll have to figure something else out on the writing front, because I’m not going back to the way I was before.
I don’t know. I just want to get back to being creative again, but my brains are scrambled eggs and I specifically ordered over easy.
There’s a hotel in my office building.
One Direction is staying there.
If you want to be annoyed at hordes of teenagers, come on over.