i just can’t get with the basketball metaphor. ive never quite played my heart out. i always keep something in reserve. Im also very scared of injury. for instance, i wouldnever play in a softball game, because people go nuts and try to make the most of their effort, and their day, and often end up breaking a clavicle or tearing a meniscus.
i am more calculating, taking my life measured out in teaspoons, assessing risks, lifting in small increments weights with strict form and in fear of injury. i hate getting my finger jammed on a basketball.
I used to play all the time as a kid. the NY knicks were so inspiring in the 70s. I had willis reeds autograph but im not sure where it went.. but im slowish and kind of have zero court sense or physical awareness of what is going on.
it’s justa blur of bodies and people with their arms waving about. in that sense, perhaps basketball is a good metaphor for life, as it often seems like justa bunch of people shuffling for position and yelling for the ball. or knocking you in the jaw and claiming it was an “accident”.
im not actually ina depressive tailspin. the book was hilarious, the vacation was great, my nature is my nature…
my cholesterol probably went up a few points in SF. dammit.
