Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Six
So. Tired.
Everyone is very tired.
Mind is spinning - spiraling. For several minutes, everything feels wrong and not right and scary and hopeless. I make myself some tea and begin to list gratitudes. I think about practice this afternoon and feel the relief of knowing that there will be laughter there.
Not enough tea in the world to keep me warm by this window.
Grown-up lunchable and more tea to try to warm myself up.
I’m still a little bit disorganized.
I need a week of working from home. Maybe that will help.
Mango.
It’s an experiment; I think it will be a good one.
Sometimes, you just want to do something familiar like boil water and slice the garlic bread. Sometimes, you need those simple and familiar things to make everything better.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Five
Slow Sunday.
I lean over my legs and grunt. Everything is so tight.
Someone moved the furniture. But the table is still out there. And so is the rug. I make a mental note to move those, too.
There are very few cars on the trail this morning. The words are still wet, and vibrant yellow leaves are plastered to the ground.
Making tally marks.
I could go to sleep right now.
There are only three more weeks until Christmas. Three more weeks. I am not ready.
There are still no lights on the tree.
Uninspiring.
One more game, and then I’ll go to bed.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Four
7:30 in the morning. A sigh of relief. Finally a morning of sleeping in.
Cleaning day.
This one-car thing when everyone needs to be in different places at the same time is not fun.
We slowly dwindle to a more reasonable number, and that feels easier.
What is the energy I want? What is the energy we need? Does it match? No.
I love this about driving for these tournaments: the questions I get to ask, the questions I’m asked, the spontaneous, unguided, non-basketball conversations. I listen, I learn, I laugh.
“Do less, more perfect.”
I remember that my responsibility at this level is to win.
“Be sure to smile; this is going in the paper!”
I tell him we’re 3 and 3. 3. and. 3.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Four
Game Day. Again.
I run all of the logistics through my mind. We have one more than yesterday, but also the other driver have a big enough car that we should be just fine. That car has snacks. I still have the med kit and the basketballs. Will I be able to watch a little bit of the boys’ tournament before we leave?
Quiet office with the lights off. I talk to her while she drives to the airport. Something about us just keeping this part of our day consistent.
He tells me he has to take the car to the shop. I need to pick him up. All of my plans need to change.
Hungry.
We wrap empty wooden wine boxes in brown craft paper. I have her tie the bows. “Finally, something I’m better at than you.” We laugh.
I keep counting and recounting. I feel like I’m missing something. It’s like when you have envisioned a whole day, and then a very big thing changes, and now nothing feels right. Nothing feels right.
Like dominoes.
I tell him it feels like the Cloverdale tournament all over again. But we did it. It could have run away from us, and it didn’t.
Tomorrow, we will try again, and we’ll still be ahead of where we were last year.
Ten.Two Thousand, One Hundred & Seventy-Three
More sleep.
Game day. I stack binders and notebooks onto the bed, check and recheck the clipboard to make sure I have what I need.
I hear someone coming into my office. He tells me he was at Sunshine getting a coffee, and the checker said, “Hey, your wife’s on the front page.” He hands me the newspaper and I see my face in a small square box. Why just my face?
When you can cancel an unnecessary meeting that no one wants to attend anyway.
I better get down there.
A Crazy-maker, remember?
The one thing that does happen is that your colleagues will rally around you even when you never feel like you have the support from where it should truly come.
“I’m an OG 3.” I turn around and look at her. “I knew you had it in you.” They all laugh.
She sits down in the chair beside me while I arrange all my things and tells me she never realized how much work I do to prepare for things like this. The children see everything.
36-3.
He texts me just the word “win.”