The perils of overthinking in the derby world.

So last night was my first, full on regular league practice.


um

There were a few times where I actually thought the evening was going to end in me in the back of an ambulance.   For realz.


I PROMISE I am not being all "waaaaa....I suck....blah blah blah"   But the moment I have three highly skilled derby vets stampeding towards me with a blood thirsty glare you can bet your ass that I'm skating the fuck away as fast as my untrained feet will take me.  Unfortunately, for the purpose of that particular drill, my objective as the blocker was to block and most certainly NOT to run away.  But seriously folks, running away like a cowardly child was the only intelligent choice when put head to head with the only other option of a broken collar bone.  Of course, running away just isn't enough.  I also had to yelp and then belly flop on the floor.

I just want to stay in the corner and practice transitions.

Easy peasy. I'm gonna do it like I have been told repeatedly.

Step one, lead with foot.  Step Two, spread eagle with other and switch directions.  Step Three, gracefully land with starting foot.  Step Four, finish off with a beautiful tomahawk.  

Annnnd GO!  

Attempt #1

Step One-lead with foot.  Step Two, spread ea....gah....this feels weird.  Step Three-fall on your knees.  Step Four- be told you are over thinking the process.  Again.

OK.  I think I have this this time.

Attempt #2

Step One-lead with foot
Step Two-Spread eagle zomigodz I did it I DID IT!!!!  ACK!  What's next?!
Step Three-fall on tail bone.
Step Four-have another vet tell me I'm over thinking.


Time to take another approach.  Close my eyes and go for it.

Attempt #3

Step One Two Three Four.    Give er.

Step 5.  Fall badly.  Pretend it didn't hurt.

Attempt #4#5#6#7 etc etc

Fall fall fall

Attempt #40 and on....

Got it.  Finally.

Back to the pack.

Elbowed, punched in the kidneys.  Trampled.  What are the rules again?!   Transitioning on your own is one thing, transitioning while going full speed is a whole other ball of wax.  Down I went, 6 derby girls on top of me.

Over thinking every move.

And then it hit me.  I have nothing to live for!     When I reflect and when I really break things down I realize that not only have I based my life on  humiliating myself  I have no real skill set or qualities that make me an important part of this world.   I am totally disposable!  In fact, if I were to die in a freak, derby related accident that's actually the best case scenario!  I die happy AND my kids get an insurance pay out.......so what am I worried about?!?!


I just need to go for it!   This is one of those times where the worse case scenario is actually the best case scenario.    I think I have finally won this round.


Now if I can remember to keep my tits to the track I might hit my 25 in 5.

Oh yeah

There is nothing I love more than cooking for myself.   It seems to have been forever since I spent some time in the kitchen, listening to music and focusing just on cooking.  No rush.

No- "I don't likes"

No -"when is dinner going to be ready"

No- " well you should really try this"


Just me.  Listening to music, singing along.  Pretty much the best ever.


I rifled around my fridge and sadly there were no 3 pound tbone steaks but there WAS a fist full of glorious asparagus and as we ALL know the only universal truth is that asparagus is the greatest vegetable in the world.   In season Ontario asparagus?!  I died.


I happened upon this recipe.  Now, I am a HUGE fan of creamed spinach on French toast so I knew I was in for it.   So bloody simple and plain but just about the most magnificent thing I have ever tasted IN MY LIFE!  And everyone knows how much I hate exaggerating.

I pretty much came in my own mouth.

And the next time I make it there will be freshly grated parm and crisped up prosciutto....and then I will die.

WHYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!

Why have I waited 36 years to discover the glory that is folk and blues.

I just can't even go on.   It's just sooo good.  I can't get enough.

So yeah, I think I need to buy a guitar and learn this shit.

Some wars were never meant to be won.

I don't know why I have bothered fighting this one.  I don't know why it has been so goddamned important especially since I don't even know what winning LOOKS like.

Yet here I am, in the middle of the same ugly fight I have been having for way too long.

My goddamned hair.

It's a fucking curse and if one.more.person says they are envious of it I swear to god I'm punching them in the throat.

It's thick.  There's a lot of it.  It grows like crazy.   It's boring.

I see folks run around with their flawless locks, bouncing, short, long, purple, brunette.  Updo, or carelessly at their side.  What I'm trying to say is that every single person in the world had the nicest hair ever but me. I want CUTE hair.  I don't want boring.  I want colour and fun and clips and all!

Ok.  I'm doing it.  I'm going all radical this time. THIS TIME will be different.  THIS TIME the girl is going wild.

In retrospect my first mistake was not being communicative enough with my 19 year old stylist.  She was kind and nice and  a-fucking-DORABLE.  So so sweet and I absolutely will see her again.  A real pleasure.  But when a 19 year old sees me they see an old lady, who, when asking for something fun, ends up getting the lamest highlights and lame cut that EVERY SINGLE BORED HOUSEWIFE gets when THEY want something "radical".  She doesn't see the super hip and cool Jimmy Kimmel mega fan that I really am.

Anyhoo.....as someone who now looks like bored housewife I'm cursing my life.  IT'S THE WORST.

Unfortunately, because I kind of am a bored housewife I also lack an additional $200.00 to get the actual radical fun haircut/colour I so desire.

So what's a super amazing broad to do?   Well, she googles "cute ways to wear bandanas to cover bad hair cut"

And sure, it looks cute.  I also now look like a 36 year old woman posing as a hipster and/or 10th grade high school student.  I don't care as it's the lessor of the two evils.  And I have given up.

This battle is futile.  

I'm exhausted.

The hair wins.

What does it all mean?

Sometimes I have a heavy heart.

Why are people cruel to each other?

War.  What gives?

What is my purpose?

Why do I like HawthoRNe?

And just as my head is about to explode with Existentialist musings I am introduced to something so incredible, so inspiring, so...so......Christoph Waltz dressed as a hamster....... well, I realize, it just doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.  It just is.  It's glorious.  It's wonderful.   It's Kevin Spacey as Piano Cat.  

 I will never unsee this magnificent masterpiece.   And my life is complete.

Oh man.

I'm going to make every effort to totally meltdown at least 4 times a year.


Yesterday it all came to a head and I spent the better part of the evening a'sobbing away.   I soon realized that I wasn't even upset anymore.  I just needed that crazy release.  I reached out to everyone on my short list of people who have really seen me mental and got the reassurance I so needed.

Cathartic.

To be fair to myself, I haven't been able to work out at.all. since my foot injury and there has been no where for the negative energy to go.  Crying seems the natural alternative.   When I started crying during "Sexy and I Know It" it occurred to me that I might be dealing with a sliiiiiight monthly hormonal surge that has been plaguing me since I was 13.  The constant slamming of my teenaged daughters door provided further evidence that my problem might be driven more by physiology and not Daddy Issues.

Ignoring all rationalisation I managed to get myself home,  bid a final farewell to the lovely Mr. M (who, objectively speaking, is waaaay too good for me :o)  ) go on the most pitiful half run/half limp, eat a LOT of ice cream and down a bottle of wine  savour a wee sniff of vino.

Anyhoo....to reward myself for my self serving I am fleeing the city for the evening but not before shelling out an arm and a leg for a new haircut and colour.

ABOVE AND BEYOND!!!

Kale. The soul destroyer.

It was all very innocent enough.

About three months ago my Mom told me that my Dad bought me Kale seeds.  A small red variety.  I was of course over the moon.  And antsy!   So I'd see my Dad here and there.  No kale seeds.  Ok.  Maybe he's going to pot it for me!  How thoughtful!!!  What a wonderful gesture!

No seeds.

The past few days have been a lot.  This time of year can chaotic and  seeing as it's only me around these parts keeping it together, well, it sometimes seems like an insurmountable burden.  Humans seek comfort.  It's what we do.  It's normal.  I'm normal.  I need an ear.  I need a sympathetic shoulder.  Need some comfort.  What's NOT normal is to seek comfort in someone who genuinely dislikes me.  Now, this is going to sound like a "boo hoo poor me" vent.  It isn't.  I'm 36 years old.  My Dad doesn't like me.  And that is ok.  Not everyone is going to like me, afterall, I'm not always the easiest person to like.
 
 But he must like me, he BOUGHT ME KALE SEEDS!!!   He likes me.  He really likes me!


Anyhoo...sometimes we need Dad.  Dad's buy kids ice cream when they are down.   They see that they are feeling totally unappreciated because they ARE totally unappreciated.  They give pearls of wisdom, really driving home how awesome you are.    They rub their kids heads and say things like "You've got this!"  "I'm proud of you!"    Convinced this time would be different and I would indeed be the recipient of words of encouragement and high caloric treats,  off I went. 

After sitting in uncomfortable silence, watching my Dad watch TV I decided that it was all a wash and that I would just go ahead and beg him to come see a derby bout.  Prepared for the argument as he full well told me he would NEVER go see a bout I geared up.  And then something caught my eye.

The package of red kale seeds.


All of a sudden I was placated.  And ashamed.  How could I behave so ungratefully?    I KNEW this gift was coming but I was bratty and greedy.  I also know how shy my Dad can be, so  I sheepishly asked if I could have some seeds.  This would surely jog his memory that he in fact bought them for me.  Hurrah!  What a clever little manipulator I am!

  "You'll have to ask your Mother.  They're hers"

I totally lied.  This is TOTALLY a boo hoo FML post.    Except it's evolved into a "I'm really fucking pissed off" post.

I bawled all the way home like the kid does BEFORE they get the motherfucking ice cream.  I bawled and bawled cause sometimes it's just nice to feel like you are worth something.  Yeah, yeah yeah,  we are all in charge of our own happiness but sometimes, especially when you feel utterly lost, it's ok  to need to feel valued, by anyone.  And you know what?  Your  Dad is a good start. .  Once.  Just once.  Tell me that I'm doing an ok job and I haven't ruined my life.   Tell me it'll get easier.  Tell me it's ok.  Tell me I'm doing a good job and that you are proud of me.    Be a fucking father..  I didn't ask to be here, the least a guy can do is fake it.

  

So I went home and gardened.   Committed to a freeze out.  Like a petulant child I'M NEVER TALKING TO HIM AGAIN.  


Sigh...but this is not true.  

And I'll buy my own fucking red kale seeds.


And god help me if I ever make my own kids feel this way.


The End.