I suck at writing and it happens to be the very thing I do the most.
That and talk to myself, quite a lot actually, it’s becoming pretty normal.
So normal to the point that just the other day, I sneezed out loud at Costco …
Except I answered myself, “bless you,” and then I just stood there.
But then a man laughed and then a woman too. Except, it might’ve been the woman first because it was at that moment I believe she said, “I think you mean congratulations.”
Yeah, and then he laughed right after and said, “what…”
“Evil spirits have been expelled,” she said.
Interesting, I thought.
I mean, I don’t know anything about evil spirits…
But I do suppose that this might be a good thing, maybe even a great thing.
Meanwhile, I feel pretty confident that my soul is not being possessed which reminds me of a movie I saw last summer. About the one with the girl and the guy. No, the one with the nun. The Nun. That’s it. The Nun—could barely get through the trailer.
Anyways, I suck at writing and that’s perfectly fine because I suck at basketball too.
Except painfully I’ve uniquely found the forbidden secret to dominating off the dribble. A rare combination of simplicity, the perfect combo in motion without moving much of my feet.
Though I did stumble once—to confuse them.
Anyways, while I’m pretty sure I’m not using any of these terms correctly…I mean, look at me.
I used to struggle to get the ball around my body but now I don’t.
“Can you do a D Rose move?”
No.
But to the bright-eyed kid on the court, be cautious.
Until next time.
“Don’t be so humble — you’re not that great.” — Golda Meir
