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November 16, 1998
a year ago

Soccer Solo

We didn't get to work until way late. After getting John's mug from Victor's, filled with mocha, we got to work and I had cotton brain for most of the day. Completely exhausted from the Con and fuzzyheaded from all the writing information. There is much of me that was still thinking in terms of words rather than code or objects or data flows, so it was really hard to switch.

Problem was that all that need and desire to switch was turning off all my verbal skills, too, so it was nearly impossible to write here as anywhere, and I had a bunch of the weekend written down by hand rather than typed. And it was even harder yet to get my brain to generate words verbally, audibly rather than typed. I couldn't get myself to do that, so I did pretty much nothing all day.

Went home in something of a fuzz, and when John mentioned that Patrick had called him during the day and that he might be able to play a late night soccer game something in me lept.

That's when I realized that I might well have socialized myself out and that the real problem was simply having been around way too many people for way too long and that what was really going to clear me up and out was simply having some time to myself. So I encouraged John to go play, bring Fezzik with him and I had the house to myself. Lovely, complete, total silence for a while.

I ate leftover meatloaf in left over spagetti sauce over old pasta. It turned out surprisingly well, as I'd made the meatloaf with a mild Italian style seasoning set. John, after his game, ate the rest of the meatloaf. I sat around the house, drank Upton Teas' Finest Russian Caravan, wrote by hand, and listened to music and started one of the old, old, old Tanith Lee books, it haunted my brain afterwards with visions of beautiful men with a compassion for women, the body of a young, vital god, with battle skills galore.

I took a long, leasurely bath and then curled up in bed, still too wound up, even after the heat and the soak to truly sleep. I could hear John, now home from the game, banging around in the kitchen and Fezzik's click-click-click of toenails as he followed John around. It took a while before I finally slept, and I realized that part of the problem was, likely, a lack of physical exercise. I want to play again. Badly.

But not badly enough to pick up the phone and call my insurance provider. Yeesh.

John had a good time at the game, as did Fezzik, it seems. Fezzik got to play with the other dogs at half time and afterwards and behaved himself politely during it all. They won the game 5 to 1, easily, handily, with lovely passing and good play. That was fun to hear about.

Now I wonder if they'll be playing in the winter.

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