I am so tired. I am tired of watching the Olympics. I’m also tired of being sick. I’ve been sick since we came back from NYC. First a fever then the ear ache, now the ringing ear with the vinegar feeling in the throat causing all the coughing which I try to keep light so it doesn’t hurt but sometimes it goes deeper and the coughs rips into the pain at the bottom of my throat that I can mostly ignore otherwise and then it rips into the pain in my ears.
The nice part of being sick is getting to hold onto my personal perspective better. I’m always so way out there in everyone else. I’m always lost. Out there.
I don’t want to get better. That’s bad. I know. But it’s a thought. Worth thinking. I bet it’s a thought that happens to a lot people who then can’t think of anything better and then can’t find their way back to better.
Larry and I cry at all the sobby Olympian stories. We check each other out for amount of tears to measure how much we have been moved. Sometimes I can’t even talk. That’s how moved I am. So I would get the gold medal between us of strongest emotional response. I liked the one about the taekwondo girl with the pretty eyes and long neck who Larry said looked like Angelina Jolie and her coach father also with a nicely shaped face and long neck and how close they were in their preparation and how when he was the coach, he was just the coach, not her father. And then later on they were out getting a coffee together - although maybe she was getting something else because should an athlete really be having a coffee? – and then he was just her father and they were so close and she was telling him everything.
I wish that was my father.
Although I’ll admit there was a small cynical part of me thinking there had to be something they weren’t talking about because could their relationship really be that good? But I don’t really like that cynical part. Sometimes it’s so mean spirited. Not only that, sometimes it’s completely totally stupidly wrong. So then, at least in those cases, I would really like to know, what is the point of having that cynical perspective?
2 comments:
Sometimes you get faklemt. But look, I'm not ready to concede the gold until you get a urine test.
That is the weirdest spelling imaginable. It looks like what the fur ball the cat spits up should be called. I thought faklempt started with the letter V. A source I found spells it just like you but puts a P in it too.
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