(no subject)
Doing laundry and then strolling through my old apartment complex because everything is clean, new, and comfortable. Past building after building of tenants packed together like sardines, catching glimpses of televisions all playing today’s big game, listening to their muffled cheers, watching as they fumble around their cluttered cookie cutter apartments.
There are more than a few friends and co-workers still living here, all of whom are surely watching the same channel, hooting at the same plays, swerving in the same liquid induced happiness of lethargy. I was one of them, and in many more ways than I’d like to admit, I still am.
But I’ve never cared about these over advertised money hungry sporting events, never felt at home while packed into stadiums of organized frenzy...
Sure I have an appreciation for the players who push the human body to new limits. And watching a game with good friends can be wonderful. I could probably become totally engrossed in the sport if it had a greater impact on my life… like my old master George Chung, who left all of us and all of his old life to become a personal trainer for the niners.
But for me it just feels like putting on a big façade of enthusiasm for an everyday sport, likely engrained in me by some kind of American cultural brainwashing.
So today I avoid all of it and everyone, including my nearby companions, to take a more genuine, long overdue pleasure from the day.
It’ll come while drifting into the crisp new novel under my arm, while stretching out on a lawn chair by the pristine pool, while watching velvety ducks groom and court each other, and while a soothing lull of wind through palm tree washes away the afternoon.