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,” instead 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 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 this might be a good thing, maybe even a great thing.
Meanwhile, I feel pretty confident 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.
But anyway, 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.)
Although I did stumble once—to confuse them.
But anyway…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
