Mental Constipation

It’s 23:30 and I want to play baseball. While watching a tech demo for a motion-sensing game controller (like the Wiimote, only more advanced), I thought to myself: “Wow, that looks fun!”, then “You know what? I just want to go outside and play ball.” Over the past six-seven years or so, I’ve hardly played any sports outside of gym lessons. Why? I’ve been taught, and have accepted, that I don’t like sports; be it as a long-haired metalhead or computer/role-play-gamer, my [kind of] people don’t do that. And to some extent, I’ve been comfortable with it. But really, you know what? I like sports. Physical exertion, team spirit, the feeling of mastering something, the exhilaration of winning – it’s all good. Not to go all pop psychology on you, but it’s just part of the classified, neutralized and stereotyped status quo that I’m making an effort to upheave. And frankly, I’ve been really just wanting to do things as of late. In this little moment of inspiration I jotted down a list, which looks approximately like this:

Things to do:

- (football, badmintion, baseball)
- Instrument (guitar, flute, sax)
- Paint?

Direct to-do list:

- Look up all the fancy words used in Catch-22 [that I didn't know]

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be outside hitting a ball with a bat.