👇🏾 What’s Below 👇🏾
In the dugout ⚾
What if I’m … wrong? 😢
Angry face 😡
I spent part of the morning in the St. Louis Cardinals dugout. The fam took a trip downtown to tour Busch Stadium. It was a good visit. We saw the owner’s suite (posh), the Champions Club (pricey) and peeked in on the batting cages (high-tech). But that moment you pop up from the bowels of the stadium and a Major League baseball field spreads out in front of you? That’s something special.
You’re there, where only a small percentage of those who have ever picked up a baseball glove ever step.
The first time I was in a Major League dugout was as a 16-year-old sports reporter at the original Yankee Stadium. To stand where — theoretically, at least — Ruth, Gerhig, DiMaggio and Mantle had stood meant something to me. It was the closest thing to a sacred space as I had in my life at that time.
Then you realize it smells like stale farts and old sweat, and some of the shine wears off pretty fast.
The ‘What Did You Say?’ of the Day
What if My Existence is Just … Wrong?
If you’ve ever been treated for a brain illness, you probably can relate to the feeling that something is just wrong. After all, you don’t end up sitting in a comfortable chair in some stranger’s office spilling your life’s deepest struggles because the way things are going are just ducky.
The problem is that even well-done therapy can create a sense that everything about your life is wrong, that if you put all your actions and thoughts and experiences on a scale divided on two platforms labeled “Yup, nailed it” and “Oh jeezus Christmas what the hell was that about?” the latter would be so heavy that it would launch the former up to hang with Richard Branson, Elon Musk and William Shatner.
I realized this evening that I’m in a place where I’m constantly battling this kind of feeling, that I feel so completely foreign as a human being when I look at the world around me that something certainly has to be fundamentally wrong with me.
I wrote a lot yesterday about feelings and motivations and my deepest heart’s desire — for the writing I do to matter to the people to whom I want it to matter the most. I have been struggling with, among other things, the question of why the thing I think I’m best at matters so little to so many of the people who actually are part of my small inner circle. I can’t seem to anchor myself with many other human beings I come across who say, “Hello there, kindred spirit,” and this births in me this belief that I’m somehow wrong, that I’m flawed.
But maybe that’s not the case. Maybe, best-case-scenario, I’m just different. Maybe even … special? That people like me — though few in number — have a purpose and a place, that we’re 1%ers but just not the money type.
I’m 47 years old. It sure would be nice to figure that all out soon.
The Angry Red Face
One of the glorious parts of Longhaul COVID was that it took what probably was long-undiagnosed sleep apnea and turned it into freshly diagnosed Super Sleep Apnea, the biggest dick of a superhero never created by Marvel or DC.
Thus, I went from having generally poor sleep to having sleep in which I was not breathing for 10 seconds or more fifty-three freaking times an hour, when I finally was tested. So now I sleep with a machine I’ve named Angelina, who shoots air up my nostrils to send a message to my brain that, “Oh, hey, yeah… you’re probably gonna wanna make this dude who’s hosting you take a breath again.”
So now I have only zero to three no-breathing times a night. The problem lately has been with “adjustments,” which is a fancy way to say that the air that is supposed to be shooting up my nose is, instead of making its way to my lungs, coming out my open mouth. How do I know this is happening? Because every morning when I wake up and turn off Angelina, instead of a pleasant, smiling green emoji staring back it me from her display, there’s been a pissed-off, angry red face welcoming me to a new day.
That’s not the kind of negativity I need when I’m just coming back to the land of the conscious. Maybe I’d actually laugh if the display showed this:
In Other Writing …
Top 5 Things You’ll Learn If You Read This Whole Thing There have been five previous mass extinctions. We’re in the middle of the sixth. We evidently don’t know about 90 percent of the species on our planet. Knowing where babies come from is a relatively new thing. Humans aren’t that special. What if you…Keep reading
Today’s Reasons to Keep Living.
- There’s a free restorative yoga class led by Hippie tomorrow. I will love the escape.
- We’re making ribs for dinner tomorrow. Three huge slabs for the whole damn fam. Gotta nosh on those.
- Boy The Elder will be here to watch the Chiefs game, and his insane passion when his team does poorly is great entertainment. They’re playing the Titans and a good chance Derrick Henry will run over or straight through some Chiefs defenders. BTE will lose his mind. Can’t miss that.
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Namaste, yo I found myself tonight in a state somewhere between awake and asleep, lying on a yoga mat with 40 pounds of sandbags on my shoulders and chest in a dimly lit studio as soft music tinged by rain sounds caressed my ears. I love this state, and I’ve only found it through meditation…Keep reading
Sell This House Our house hit the market today, which is to say the Great Gods of Google allowed for it to be found by Realtors and anyone else who happens to have a larger-than-average nosy bone. Our Realtor said we could share it with our friends and family. I was trying to think of…Keep reading
Stages of Life Over the years, I’ve found tremendous comfort in the stability of my in-law family, especially with my sisters-in-law and, as time has progressed, their husbands. My own family is pocked by constant drama. It took me a long time to recognize exactly how not-typical my own family is and to realize that…Keep reading
Wakey Wakey My day started off with a bag-full of my blood being drained, filled with ozone and then dripped back into my while I listened to a cancer patient banter about QAnon insanity as if it were gospel with the nurse in charge of my treatment. How was your morning? So Long, Sonny Boy…Keep reading
Interesting Things You Say to Your Spouse “Please don’t get killed by anyone using a sharp object. I don’t want to go to prison for the rest of my life.” This sentence that I said to Wifey-Poo this morning makes sense if you have a spouse who loves murder podcasts and TV shows. My hands…Keep reading
Welcome to the World of Real Estate Starting a new job today was a welcome relief from the drudgery of moving. After getting my ass kicked yesterday in the Great Fridge Swap, I welcomed the opportunity to use my brain instead of whatever physical power I might have left. This is the first time I’m…Keep reading
Perspective Matters I don’t know exactly when I learned it or from whom, but I’ve held “righty-tighty, lefty-loosey” as a Truth-capital-T for a long, long time. Today I learned it’s a matter of perspective. Yesterday, I bragged about how I have become Mr. Fix-It. Today, the God of Home Improvement (Tim Allen?) smacked me in…Keep reading
Begone, Cabinet! There was a time not long ago when I had zero self-confidence with home repair or renovation projects. It seemed as if every time I tried something, I made the situation worse and often a lot worse. This runs counter to my DNA, as my father is constantly tinkering with things and fixing…Keep reading
Moving Is Fun … … when someone else does it. At just before 9 a.m., movers from Two Men and a Truck arrived at our Wentzville house. There were four men. Within three hours, they’d loaded up all the crap we had boxed and the furniture and other assorted LifeJunk we’ve accumulated through the years.…Keep reading
He Got the Shot I took Boy the Younger to get his first COVID vaccine today. He’s 12. I consider this the socially responsible thing to do, and, after struggling for months now with Longhaul COVID, I’m really not all that open to hearing the other side of the vaccine debate. I’ve made up my…Keep reading