The Contemporary Mean: A Day in the Life of a Rounders Star.

Such as is said, there is no commercial, and even less often than never, a magical combination of words that are sure enough to sway; but such can be attempted, and will, to some end or other.

In the end, before the final nailings and the chickens under the house crowing, only you can decide what you want, and such is none to sway, but then, also, something can burble.  For instance, a ginger crossing a parking lot, then forgotten, or so I thought, but hours later, a certain feeling, a hunger for cookies and milk in my underwear, or should I say, eating milk drenched cookies while sitting in my underwear, which is the blogger's mean, the kind of penance and gratification in one fell swoop, as if I were, become, as destroyer of worlds, a satire of my own self.

*Only you can decide ultimately what you want.

That said, it is far easier to break a manipulation if you are aware of it.

You decide what you want, and then put barbecue sauce on it.

Would life be logically easier if you knew what you wanted?  Or would you opened the door to the possible of 50% disappoint likelihood?

If you didn't know, and weren't actively petitioning, life would seem varied, at least, and perhaps, in that respect, interesting, more so perhaps than waiting or plodding along at some side-quest.

Perhaps life is too varied to have only a singular thing, and as we see of the famed, they have an epiphany after attaining that dream, they realize it was all empty, and the time, perhaps wasted.

They could have been living, but instead they were merely planning so much, instead.

Do you play Rounders for money or fame?

Do you play Rounders because you enjoy it?

Do you play Rounders because you're skilled enough to make a professional go of it?

Do you do it for the chocolate chip cookies?

Will the universe permit it, or will you be crushed by ball lightning?

I honestly wonder, though, the potentials for disappointment, and life being persistent and all, it never seems to get fully brought off, it seems, and in the end, over here, there is a kind of hanging on, neither really desperate or in despair, or overwhelmed, overburdened by too much joy, nay, not that, but sort of subsisting along.

If one did not come to enjoy the usual, then one is a sad ass, right?  What happens all the time, and can you not enjoy it?  I see some gnash and kick against the prickleburrs and so forth, and their lives are constant teeth-bared fangs flaring struggle, and its always, some day.

Some day.

At the expense of living today.

My idea of living was talking to stray cats, earlier today, which I enjoyed, my freedom of verbosity, and the cats seemed to enjoy it a lot, and the pranced along brushing my calves as I stroke their backs.

At the thought of it, I could play a variation of cornhole, but with chocolate chip cookies on a tabletop playboard, played with a silverware contrivance like a shuffleboard stick.  And imagine, you play the game for a time, then you ingest all the evidence, using the metallic stick to shove the cookies down each other's gullets.

I play Rounders, then, around the ripe old age of 42 or so, I become a offensive coordinator, just hanging around at camp, practice and home games, while raising my youngish blonde son.

Was that after the universe crushed me with ball lightning?  Do I also have to ask you if I survived, and this is not some sort of half-assed word from beyond the grave left to tell you not to make the same mistakes I made.

*common goals make for common results.

BUT.

Common results aren't so bad, and you'd be surprised to learn maybe that more are mostly happy rather than mostly sad.

Common results in a land of the exceptional?  Why to be exceptional, to be on the wire and contending, that too, common?

How common too, the general expense of going through the common day, unless I were, stolen bicycle at my side, walking the sidewalks with a discarded fish sandwich.

Would my eye rise in greeting?

Or would that be TOO common?  Or would it seem the other, the despair were too common?  But then too, nation of the exceptional, the common are expected to contend to some extent, so.....

half empty, half full...

and then I forgot what I was rebelling against, and just decided to be mad at myself for falling for all of the inbound nonsense.