Category: Bits and Pieces

Blue skies
A soft breeze tickling my face
Freedom to do what I want
Rolling out of bed late
Relaxing with my summer playlist
Playing basketball
Leaving my blood, sweat, and heart out on the court
Playing volleyball
Learning new things about the sport and myself
Playing more basketball
Perfecting my game, my shot, my moves
Walking to lunch with a friend
Baking cookies and brownies and eating the batter
Making fruit salad and enjoying the sun
Making fruit salad and enjoying the air conditioning
Slathering on the sun screen and riding my bike
Heading to the crystal blue pool with my friends
Lounging
Loving
Living
This summer will be my best yet
I can feel it
I can sense it
I can taste it
And it tastes like cookie dough

A very happy St. Patrick’s Day!

And thanks for nothing UVA

Congrats to UMBC, however

What’s going on with this rain-snow weather?

Just a reminder, Harvard women did it first

Beat the best seed while they had the worst

Now it’s time to tear my bracket up

I had UVA winning, so wish me luck!

The air is cool and clean, playfully batting my cheek and filling my lungs. The wet porch beneath me is cold but comfortable. An enormous green bush hides me from passers by, but I can peer through the branches to the road beyond. Watching without being watched. Seeing without being seen. I’m pretty used to the view.

The evening sky is a cotton candy blue, and the bare trees reach up into it like skeleton arms. Birds chirp and children scream in the distance. A car door opens and shuts. I hear muffled voices from inside my house.

Another car creeps around the corner and I return to my book. The breeze nips at my bare legs and I like the feeling of wearing shorts outside for the first time since October.

More car doors. More birds. I look up at the light sky and see a bug zoom by, then a bird. The crisp air around me smells like rain and earth.

I could get used to this. I could get used to spring in February.

I return to my book once more, my back starting to ache. Then, when the pale reading light from the sky above is all but gone, I stand, open the front door, and return to the stale air of my front hall.

Today, for most people, is Super Bowl Sunday. But I’m not exactly a football fan, so I barely even notice as people all across the country get ready to watch a bunch of men tackle each other in big sweaty piles. For me, today is something a little more average.

Today my brother had a basketball game. Today I have to go grocery shopping. Today I have to do the homework I put off all day yesterday. Today it is pouring rain but I guess it’s not cold enough to get us out of school tomorrow. Sigh.

Today is also my Grandpa’s birthday. Today, I am celebrating a smart, kind, funny, generous, wonderful grandfather. I am not celebrating a bunch of millionaires who run around on a field playing an over-glorified game of fetch.

Not that there’s anything wrong with liking football. I don’t judge people for what sport they watch. (I judge them for other things.) I just wanted to point out that for a lot of people, today isn’t just about football.

Just saying.

(Happy birthday Grandpa.)

Okay, so I’m just going to come out and say it. The whole “write every day for a year” thing didn’t work out. Yeah, I know, big surprise. 

Some of you are probably disappointed. I am too. I really thought I could do it. But every once in a while I said “Well, I can skip one day.” And one day turned into two. And now here I am, realizing I haven’t written in almost a week. 

But I want to keep going. This time however, I won’t have the pressure. I’m not trying to write every day for a year, I’m just trying to write. I’m just trying to be a writer. 

I have a lot going on in my life right now. Obviously, I want writing to be part of my life. But writing every single day is just too much. So someday, maybe I will realize that I have written every day for a long time. Someday maybe it will be my career, someday I may get paid to write every day. 

But for now I’m going to focus on everything else going on around me, and make time for writing whenever I can. And if I don’t write one day, it’s not the end of the world. 

Because let’s be honest. I didn’t even last a month. 

Beads of sweat drip down my face as I stare down the rim. One more shot, I tell myself. Just one more and then I’ll go home. But I don’t. I shoot, over and over again. Swish! Clunk! Air ball. My shoes squeak the gym floor and my shirt is drenched. I tighten my ponytail, brushing wisps of hair out of my eyes. My hand goes up, past my nose, and I flick my wrist just so. The ball is a part of me. Swish. I rebound, I run, I shoot again. Panting and gasping for air, I curse the owners of Wakefield gym. No AC, none at all. I shoot and run and sweat. My body begs for mercy, but my brain begs for perfection, and my heart begs for basketball. The court is mine. My shoes slip on my own salty sweat and my fingers are red. The blood pounds through my hands and to my head. Any normal person would stop. But my water bottle sits, lonely, in my bag while I push through the throbbing in my head. My finger collapses in on itself, jammed, but I play on. My spring break will be a cycle of run, sweat, rebound, shoot, and swish.

And I will love every minute of it…

But first I have to get there.