Hit The Wall @ MindSay

I was playing a game of squash against the boss last night (the entire office goes). He sent me running from the left side of the court to the right side to return the ball. The ball could not have been more than 300mm (1') from the right hand wall and I had to hit the ball at pace.

 

I got the return in, before careening into the wall. Luckily I have a bit of padding, by being a slightly overweight bastard, because I hit the wall with a sickening crash, and bounced more than a meter off the wall, landing in a human puddle, my glasses dislodged, my racket out of hand.

 

The boss got to my return, and just to tease me he hit it so that it landed near me lying on the ground. I was able to grab my raquet in the wrong hand hit the ball and hit a good winner.

 

However I couldn't sleep last night, because every time I moved it was like.....

 

"Ouch, that's a bruise"

 

Ah well.

someone once said that you should wake up every morning like you ment to. I'm stuck in a rut. I am blessed beyond reson but still I'm in a rut. Once you get so far down, you almost forget that there is ground above and stop trying to reach the ledge. Determination is somthing I have always possessed. If I wanted it, it was going to be mine.usually sooner than later. But I've hit a wall. I know what I want. I can't see the finish line but I know exactly where it is and I know exactly how to get there but my appathy drags me down. Is it the constant thoughts of past mistakes that keeps me in my seat? I've apologized. I've changed. I've been forgiven. So what? What is this weight that is holding me down. Stopping me from bolting from my chair and running towards the end goal. Pulling me back everytime I make a weak attempt. Fear? Anger?

 

Psalm 6:2-4 

 Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint;
       O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony.

 My soul is in anguish.
       How long, O LORD, how long?

 Turn, O LORD, and deliver me;
       save me because of your unfailing love

I throw another log onto my growing pile. Another. Another. They split apart when they hit one another, chunks of bark flying off in every direction, an explosion of wood-based shrapnel. Eventually I'll have to sort and stack them so that they will all fit along the wall, one on top of the next.

 

It's mindless and perfect. If I pause for too long tears start running down my face and all I want to do is wail, wallow in a mutual harmony of self-pity and self-loathing. I stop thinking about it and sweat, pick up another one, feel my wrist ache, and let that motherfucker fly. It hits the other logs with a satisfying crack.

 

Forty minutes later I am dripping sweat down my face. My jacket is discarded on a pile of cinder block, and I've worked my way to the logs that are too heavy to toss. Each one I kick over before picking up, stare in detached horror as the multi-legged centipedes scurry off into the grass; as the blind round armadillo bugs scuttle about, overtop of one another; as the slow, shining, gelatinous slugs glisten warmly in the sun.

 

I don't think of what a failure I am. I don't think about the newest rejection. I don't think about their car speeding away, leaving me standing on the side of the road pining to be included. The tag-along, the third wheel, the person no one really wants there. The jinx. The one with the bad luck, no talent, nothing to say. I ignore the fact that my hands are bleeding from the splinters, and that my wrist is bleeding where the sensitive scab has cracked open from strain.

 

I don't think about any of that.

 

Just log upon log upon log. I wonder what will happen when I run out.

Remember Yasmine Bleeth? BAYWATCH star, cosmetics cover girl, Got Milk spokesperson:

She was beautiful, had a great body and was just an all around hot chick. Well that was then...before latching onto Richard Grieco and a major drug habit turned her into this:

She hit the wall face first at 100 mph and its a damn shame.