Tell me, why do they have SBA elections two weeks in? (Student ?Bar? Association) I can barely tell you the names of the people I see every day, much less these crazy bastards taking it seriously. Is it wrong that I voted no confidence on every line of the ballot? No, I’m taking my stand damnit. They wanted us to vote for who we wanted, and I voted how I felt.
Scary thought: Two most hated professions in my life: lawyer and politician. Does this mean I might actually develop political aspirations someday and run for office at some level? Should this happen, implement plan B on myself at earliest convenience, hopefully with someone else pulling the trigger.
For those of you who don’t know, Plan B is a plan I created (stole) some time ago. I realized that, to date, there is almost no one that I know that I would trust in a position of power. Sadly, the few people I would trust have no such political hopes. The rest of those bastards however scare the fuck out of me, not only for their charisma, but also for their (as I perceive it) inability to do things right. So, should anyone on the Plan B short list get into a position where I hear about their run for X position, then I consider buying a rifle with a scope. I think those of you reading this can connect the dots.
Thus far, Plan B lies dormant. Lucky them. Lucky me.
Does student government actually get anything done? Yes, it provides a practice environment for others (God forbid they should go in with an idea of what they’re doing). At the same time, it seems like a sham. Do they actually help? I don’t know.
I think what pisses me off about them is that they’re spamming my email inbox. If I didn’t ask for your email, that means I didn’t want it. I don’t need more Viagra. If anything, I need less, because I’m not using the supply I’ve got right now. But, fuck, we’ve been here two weeks. If I don’t know you now, do you think an email is going to make things better? I almost voted for the girl named [B.G.] just because her name was [B.G.]. Damn, not one of you has proven yourselves capable in my eyes. You just send out witty emails and hope that will be enough. Yeah, if I wipe my ass with canned air, that will get everything clean. Sometimes, you got to dig down to the dirt firsthand.
Well, if nothing else, I’m getting the old anger back. Hey, go me. Check plus for this entry.
[That my birthday was two days prior this certainly did not dull my anger. –K]
***R.B. stood betwixt me and the goal line. His fresh short-sleeved shirt, newly purchased an hour before, bore patchwork sweat stains, soaking through the long-sleeved shirt beneath. His body tensed, ready to lunge, his sweat-glazed face calm, almost placed.
Across him, and closing the gap ever quicker, I cam rushing through, legs scissoring, arms pumping, face locked into a fearful grimace ("they" tell me when I play football, I sport a rather becoming death rictus). My t-shirt, probably worth a dollar or so, clung to me, rounded inverted sweat triangle greying the front.
I had the football cradled in my right arm, gentle babe in my charge. It belonged just beyond that goal, and I was convinced I could bear it across. Besides, who am I to deny a child? No, I wanted to deny R.B. my flag, which he desired with the fury of a thousand suns. I had two seconds to make my choice.
I sped downfield parallel to the left sideline, and R.B. stood poised just a couple of feet away, so I couldn't cut outside. Instead, and I'm not sure what I was thinking, about a step away from R.B., I planted with my right foot, threw the left half of my body back, pivoted like a center in the paint, and launched myself away towards the center of the field, leaving R.B. grasping at air. Shooting away, I heard shocked yells and cries behind me. Left R.B. behind.
And I guess the reason I'm writing about this is because, as of late, it seems like this is how I deal with all the problems in my life. Rather than rush right into them, chinfirst and with beauteous abandon, I stop just before, dance out of the way, and try to go around it. The only problem is that, just like real life, it is a temporary solution. The next offensive series, R.B. was still waiting for me. The next couple of days, my problem will still be there.
It is so easy to pretend that my problems don't exist by slip sliding away, but that only takes me so far. And here is where the metaphor breaks down. I can't run over R.B. in the context of the game, because it is against the rules, and I have not the physical prowess to run him over. I can at least acknowledge the issues in my life, and say "Hey, Problem. Let's deal." As a matter of course, in alignment with the narrow path my life follows, it is always easier to say what should be, rather than execute to bring that about.
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