Broken, lookin’ up I see the enemy.
And I have swallowed the poison you feed me.
But I survived on the poison you feed me.
Guilt fed. Hatred fed. Weakness fed.
It makes me feel ugly.
I’m on my knees, I’m burning.
My piss and moans are human.
I set my head on fire. I’m dead inside.
Shit adds up. Shit adds up. Shit adds up.
Shit adds up at the bottom.

—Tool, Bottom

Remember those days in high school, when you couldn’t sleep because of upcoming finals, or the girl you liked told you she didn’t like you back?

Sometimes I miss those days.

Every time I want to say something, complain, vent, I think of others. I never lost both my legs. I don’t have any crippling social disabilities. My parents never left me naked on the asphalt. Hell, Aaron went through shit so bad two years ago that I can’t even talk about it, and he’s one of the last people to deserve it. I really don’t have anything to complain about.

Then I question the timing. And every time there’s another load added, I think, “I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW”. I have deadlines to meet, sleep to catch up on, insecurities to allay. Is this some divine way of telling me that I’ve been having it too good lately? A way of balancing out how well things have been going? No, the timing is good, my friends remind me. This isn’t in the middle of a divorce, or the death of a family member, or massive debt. This is probably one of the most convenient times for all of this to happen. I really don’t have anything to complain about.

So I have to shoulder all of it now. Not to put it all aside, but to deal with it head on when I have to concentrate, to stop freaking out when I’m lying in bed, to stop being absolutely terrified when I’m in an uncomfortable situation. Another rollercoaster ride, another crucible, another bridge to cross.

Thank god I’m stronger now. Thank god I have my friends. Thank god I have a girlfriend I can communicate with. If I didn’t have John, Trolley, Aaron, Pat, Darren, Bronny to call, I’d be going FUCKING NUTS. I’D FLIP THE FUCK OUT. Yesterday, I spoke to every single one of them through the course of the day.

Shit adds up.

And she’s alllllllllllll mine.

After four months, I finally have the perfect picture for my frame. Ordered a 12×18 print that should be in next week.

When I read the order of play to Norm, he laughed. The first grouping was against Hit-And-Miss, and being such an active member in the community, Norm knew them well. Against this team of three middle-aged, white metrosexuals and their buddy Chinese captain, we fared what can only be described as holocaustic. They wore tight-fitting shirts, stylish tearaway pants, and had the strength, and speed to match.

Except for the Chinese guy. He had a bit of a pot belly, a bit of a scruff, and a very feared, well-balanced, pen-holders grip. And he spoke great English.

It was a pleasure to lose to such nice guys.

I asked them about the next team we were up against, and they told us that they trashed the two little guys at the last league meet. Little guys? Kids. But I can already tell that both have improved since last month, the capain told me.

No challenge for four fit men in their thirties plus one Chinese guy (40 give or take 10 years). A little more difficult for me and my teammates, Norm, a calmly passionate Chinese guy in his 50’s, and Andrzej, a Polish man who picked up table tennis this year after a 40 year break, both of whom are better than I am.

I never would have believed that an 11-year-old and his seven-year-old brother could be so intimidating, a very FRENCH Olivier and Laurent. As captain, I had the decision to make as to who was playing first.

In table tennis, as with chess, the strongest player on the team is usually signed to the first match so that the matches may end before the weaker players have to play. Captain 1 signs the play sheet for the order of play for his team, and hands the sheet folded in half to Captain 2 so he can’t see, and use such information to his advantage by pairing up opponent styles against their weaknesses. Out of five matches, there are two singles at the start, a doubles in the middle, and two more singles at the end between the first singles opponents reversed, for best out of five matches.

Confused yet?

Before I signed the play sheet, Norm let me in on a little secret; when Olivier was 10 last year, Norm beat him in the league. Gambling that this would still hold true, and our opponents would follow form, I put Norm first, me second, and Andrew with Norm as doubles. That way Norm had the best chance at beating the older brother, I would have a chance at beating the younger brother, they would win doubles, and that would be it.

Unfortunately, they decided to play the younger brother, Laurent, first. He could only see about a foot over the table, and I could tell his movements were strained from the height disadvantage. He spoke no English, except for the phrase “Backhand?” during warm-ups, and “One mo!” when he was at 10 points. Sometimes he would mimic the table tennis pros with little grunts of satisfaction when he got a point. Eventually, he lost to Norm graciously (for a seven-year-old).

Then I was up against the Olivier, the older brother. Believing that a pair of descended testicles to be my only advantage, I played with a lump in my throat, and he returned like a machine, surprising me at every point. I could never keep him off balance, or run him around the table. He just kept landing the ball on my side.

I lost. Then we lost at doubles, a tremendous upset. My mind was out, and I was forced to play the younger brother next. I lost again, although I won one set after Norm told me to serve to the far side of his stance (they had a time-out and easily adjusted for the next set). By that time, we lost three out of five matches, and they were determined to be the winning team, but Olivier asked to play Norm for the final match anyway. When Oliver won, he walked over and shook Norm’s hand, a look of proud accomplishment on his face.

And this is what Norm loves the most. To see those younger players grow up and improve and become national team players.

I’ve been a jumble of emotions lately. A mix of excitement and worry, fun and stress, unsettling uncertainty and crossed-signals. On top of it all I keep getting all sorts of BULLSHIT from people, when it’s the last thing I need.

I generally don’t like this feeling. To grow, and this is especially true for me, one needs a foundation of stability. Once the basic things are constant, there can be changes and adjustments made to improve. Now I find myself struggling to keep the simplest things under control.

It’s certainly been an interesting year so far.