Two Weeks Supreme

I just watched Rafael Nadal win his 14th French Open.

This is the ice cream on the cake of two weeks of bliss for me. I have watched so much tennis in the last two weeks that I am beginning to believe that happiness is attainable.

Tennis is a supreme sport. Rafael Nadal is the undisputed King of Tennis, in my humble opinion. He has won 2 Australian Opens, 4 U.S. Opens, 2 at Wimbledon, and.......14 French Opens. He has won 22 Grand Slam titles; Federer and Djokovic have each won 20.

But fuck all that - he is just fun and amazing to watch. Amazing. 

I watched him play Djokovic, Zverev and Ruud. Zverev gave Nadal the toughest run for his money, forcing him to a tie breaker in the first set, which Nadal won, and forcing him to a tie breaker in the second set. As they were duking out the second tie breaker, Zverev suffered a gruesome foot injury that resulted in several torn ligaments in his right foot. He was forced to concede.

I really wanted that match to continue because it was epic. I was actually sizing up Zverev as someone to root for in the future. The guy played amazing tennis.

Look at my face. Do you see the smile? A real smile, not the phony one I paste on every day to pretend to outsiders that all is well.

I love tennis, man. I fucking love it. I played a lot of it when I was younger, so I have a deeper appreciation for the sport than an outsider.

Wimbledon is coming up - June 27-July 10. I am going to give it the same blanket covereage I gave to the French Open. How could I not? The last two weeks added 4 days onto my life. If I keep this up I may live to see 70.

(I always have to get fucking morbid, don't I?)

Final Thoughts: - Tennis is a sport for loners. You are isolated out there. No one to depend on but yourself. And it is grueling. Nadal and Zverev took 3 hours to play 2 sets. Three fucking hours. If that match went 5 sets it would probably have taken close to 6 hours.

Could you do that?

Tennis is a metaphor for life. You are alone against the world. You have to be in supreme physical and mental condition to win. Or you get crushed by the asphalt roller of your competition.

You have to be in peak fighing condition to win at life. To really win at life.

Most of us are fat, dumb and lazy. That's why we lose.

Of course, you could always cheat. As most fat, dumb successful people do.

Anyway, I am getting off track. I love tennis. I love it with all my heart. And tennis loves me back. It treats me well. It extends my life. It thrills me. It makes me smile, gasp and exclaim.

Fucking A, man - it has been a supreme two weeks.

Horrified By Life

 "I couldn't get myself to read the want ads. The thought of sitting in front of a man behind a desk and telling him that I wanted a job, that I was qualified for a job, was too much for me. Frankly, I was horrified by life, at what a man had to do simply in order to eat, sleep, and keep himself clothed."

Charles Bukowski, from Factotum.

I Awake Alone

I awake alone. Alone with my thoughts. Alone with my shortcomings.

I face people during the day. I am still alone.

They don't care what I am about. Don't care how I hurt.

They hurt too. A hurt that blinds them to my reality.

It's a two-way street. I don't give a damn what suffocates their soul.

We all suffer. We do it alone.

Everything dies - compassion, empathy, love.

The only thing that can be sustained is pain, because it feeds on itself.

The perfect life force; immortality expressed in a twisted truth.

Is this what God intended?

Jesus Will Take Me

So I get home on Tuesday at 6:30 and Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic are still playing.

I expected this.

They were in the 4th set. Nadal won the first set 6-2, Djokovic won the second set 6-4, Nadal won the third set 6-2. When I got home Djokovic was up 5-2 in the fourth set.

I was elated. This was fucking perfect. Djokovic would win that set, setting up a fifth set - which I could watch in its entirety LIVE. Fucking live, man.

One set live between these two men would have made my day - it would have gone on forever because of long, exquisite rallies and extreme competition.

I go upstairs, change my costume for comfortable clothes, do this, do that - come downstairs and the score is 5-3, Djokovic. As the next game begins I realize that Nadal is suddenly dominating and Djokovic looks tired.

5-4. 5-5. 6-5. 6-6. Tiebreak. Which Nadal wins. 7-6 Nadal. Match Nadal.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Rafa, baby - come on, man - I am in your corner. You are the current bad boy of professional tennis - I always root for the bad boys. Besides, you fucking kick ass. I love to watch you play. Intensity through the roof.

You couldn't tank one set so I could have a life?

Jesus fucking Christ.

I recorded the whole match, I will watch it in bits and pieces over the next few days, but it will not be the same.

I come home from a demeaning job, I am angry, tired and hopeless - a fifth set would have breathed temporary life into my temporary life - but you stole that away from me.

You are playing in the semi-finals....................tomorrow. I am working tomorrow. Fucking working my part-time, demeaning job while you perform on one of the world's biggest stages. I am fucked by destiny once again. Sensing a pattern here?

Sidenote: I just watched the Women's semi-final match between Iga Swiatek and Daria Kasatkina. Just this morning. Swiatek kicked Kasatkina's ass. 6-2. 6-1. I would dearly love to watch the Women's Final. The final is being played on Saturday during the day, our time. I am working Saturday afternoon. All afternoon.

The Men's Final is being played on Sunday. I am praying that Nadal reaches the Final. I do not have to work on Sunday.

Jesus will probably take me on Saturday night.

Whaddya gonna do?

Chump in Charge

When you are a part-timer - real bottom of the barrel, insignificant employee - you get truly fucked on long weekends.

You can bet your life that every salaried employee will take the Friday of Memorial Day weekend off, leaving part-timers holding the bag. I must admit, as a salaried employee, I did the same thing many, many times. But I am on the other side of the equation now and I resent it.

Because I should be retired, not in kindergarten.

Everybody disappeared last Friday, leaving me and another part-timer in the box-office. She left at 3:30. I was alone from 3:30 to 6:00. In an empty building.

Normally I enjoy this, I pray for it, I look forward to it - I hate being around people. But on the Friday before Memorial Day weekend I feel like a chump.

Everybody else is water-skiing, smoking fat cigars, barbecuing, kayaking, consuming large, enlightening volumes of alcohol, laughing, telling stories, enjoying the company of friends, enjoying the company of relatives. I am sitting in a vacant building, the phone is not ringing, no one is stopping in, bored to death and resentful. And when the phone does ring, or somebody does walk in, I get furious - I do not want to deal with you. 

What the fuck is your problem? Can you not just leave me alone?

I walk (limp) around the buliding, ride the elevator, look out the window at people below happily bouncing down the street in Memorial Day freedom. I reflect upon the train wreck that is my life, leaving me washed up and stranded on the Island of Unfulfilled Potential. Shocked to find myself here - in ragged clothes, with rancid breath and lifeless eyes.

Oh well, what are you gonna do?

Chump in Charge. Sounds like a position of authority to me.

As much as I am ever going to get at this point in my life.

The Knee (April 8)

Wow, man - this thing turned into a thing.

Who knew? Certainly not me.

Fucking surgeon made it sound like not a big deal up front. Maybe it isn't for some people; most people? I don't fucking know.

All I know is that today is June 2 and I am still in pain with a knee that still stiffens up. I am riding an exercise bike at the lowest level of stress, I am doing a bunch of exercises daily, icing it up multiple times daily, I have made a lot of progress in the last two weeks BUT it still fucking hurts, it is still delicate, it is still uncomfortable.

I still take the crutches with me when I leave the house because I never know when the knee will flare up and say "Hey, dickhead - I am in charge, not you - you will bow to me and do as I dictate."

I'll be walking along feeling good, feeling hopeful and then suddenly there is a twinge - a painful twinge - that truly distubs me. And I'm back on crutches.

I think the people at work think I am faking it. I think everybody thinks I am faking it.

I don't fucking care any more about anyone in any way. Fuck them. I know how I feel, I know what I am dealing with. Fuck them and all their friends and relatives and antecedents.

Carol had lunch with a friend of ours a week or two ago. Her husband was there at the time. Carol was talking about my knee woes. Turns out he went through exactly the same thing - same type of surgery - same long, painful recovery. He eventually had knee replacement surgery on that knee. And the recovery from that went easier than the meniscus tear surgery.

Feels like I am on the same path. Had I fucking known, I would have jumped right to knee replacement surgery. The surgeon did not suggest it, it never even came up. I did a lot of research in advance but only on meniscus tear surgery. I did not even think about knee replacement.

Lesson fucking learned.

I dicked around with Dr. Surgeon until I was convinced I was getting nowhere. Then I set up an appointment for a second opinion with another hospital.

They confirmed it last week. For June 13. Fucking June 13.

So I am still dealing with this fucking thing. Haven't exercised since the middle of January. I feel shitty; tired, out of breath, weak, vulnerable.

Fuck it.

What are you gonna do?

I had a friend who used to say that odd numbered years were good years for him, even numbered years were bad.

Maybe 2023 will be my year.

You Will Thank Me For It

Here's why New England fucking sucks.

It steals your joy.

You spend five months out of every year suffering in misery, on your fucking knees, bleeding from the ears, through cold and ice and snow until "you end up like a dog that's been beat too much, 'til you spend half your life just coverin' up" - (thank you, Bruuuuuuce). And then it's May.

But it comes with a catch. It gives you 70 degree days and Beauty, it gives you 50 degree days and regret.

I am sitting up here in my sanctuary with a fucking heater on. It's June 2. And this is not the first time. I spent multiple days up here in May with the fucking heater on.

All you jerkoffs who say "I just love New England, I just love the change of seasons" are delusional. There is no change of seasons. You get WINTER, and other stuff, with WINTER days sprinkled in.

The lie of Spring, Summer and Fall is false hope - you pray for warm weather - you get it, but only in fits and spurts. The next thing you know you have fallen on your ass in the driveway as you scrape ice off of your windshield.

New England is a vicious and cruel area of the country to live in. I hereby decree that all New England residents be relocated to warm climates - I am talking about truly warm climates - where you can actually live a life in ease and peace. Then drop a nuclear bomb obliterating the six states, so no life can ever "flourish" here again.

You will thank me for it.