After Regionals. After Regionals. After Regionals.

Everything in my life is "after Regionals" at this point. I want to start at a new gym, but any new workout has to wait until after Regionals. I want to start biking to work, but that has to wait until after Regionals. I want to start a new project, but that has to wait until after Regionals.

Things will get better, I'll have less to do. After Regionals.

I want to have dinner with Cal and Elina (yay! I finally figured out how to spell E's name correctly), and introduce Kris to them, but that has to wait until after Regionals.

Kris quit his job (oh, did he Forget. To. Mention. That?), and needs to start looking for a new source of income. But that has to wait until after Regionals.

I want to head out to Google to play disc with the group there, but that has to wait until after Regionals, lest I risk injury.

Like I'm not already injured at this point.

Everything in my life is fairly on hold at this point. Until after Regionals.

Hell, one of my childhood friends asked if she could come out to visit, and I told her next weekend, please, Regionals are this weekend.

I'm so unprepared for this tournament that my stomach is in knots, every part of me aches, and all I can think about is running, running, running, and catching that disc.

I so need to turn off that mental chatter, listen to that rush that fills my ears at the first pull of that important game, and just Run. Hard.

This morning, I woke up to about 200 emails in my inbox, about 150 more than usual. In as much as I had stopped checking my email yesterday at 2 in the afternoon, the excess emails were not all that surprising.

As per my usual routine, I woke up by running out of the bedroom, tripping over both dogs and barely missing breaking a leg as I summitted Mount Laundry and descended the backside. I was running, of course, to catch the call from Mike before the fourth ring, when the call went to voice mail, and Mike hangs up or leaves a "Are you up yet?" voice mail.

After, thankfully, picking up the phone in time, I continued my morning routine of sitting down in front of the computer at the dining table, waking it up, and reading email, deleting the spam that arrives, and basically skimming the rest.

So, when I received an email with the subject "FOR SEXUAL SERVICES," I, naturally, deleted it.

As it was disappearing from view, I glanced at the sender, and realized, crap, I knew the sender. Undelete!

The best part of the receipt from Andy? I can't tell if it's the fact it was "Instant" or that Paypal doesn't offer a Seller Protection Policy on sexual services. I mean, what if the service sucked?

(Mom, it was a reimbursement for money I spent at BarCamp last month.)

From Wes, who saw it as the signature of an email:

Bite, scratch, claw for every point, every throw.  Keep your head up on the field
and on the sideline.  Never give up, never take the foot off the throttle.  No 
mercy, no stopping, and no more excuses.

GAME TIME 

Fire. Me. Up.

"Do you have a blog?"

"Yes, I do."

"Oh? What do you write about?"

"Me."

"Huh?"

"Me. No one else seems to know more about me than I do. So, it seems to make the most sense that I should be the one writing about me."

"Um... okay."

Strangely enough, he stayed to talk to me even after that conversation.

What's worse, writing half an entry and not finishing it, or not writing at all? I'm not sure yet. I have probably three or four dozen half written notes, posts and entries sitting on my computer, my phone and my notecards, all waiting to be finished, polished and finally submitted.

Argh.

Take this one, for example, from last Friday night, which I wrote on my phone:

Having actually taken the bus this morning for my journey from Kate's to Webzine, I find myself waiting for a taxi to take me from Kate's to the Webzine party half way across town.

And I really need to look up every once in while when I type. I just wrote "@ 5@?4 ,(-1'5 +&@3@?6 5"2 & 3&7@ 3"3 3&:1 ,1 52", K&31's to" when I wasn't looking and had the symbol key locked on.

I know that taxis are a normal mode of transportation for a lot of people, but my experiences with them really are quite limited to travels from the airport and my one journey home from work.

Unsurprisingly, I feel a little nervous. Worse, I'm holding up the langpad.

Bah.

...

And now I've been here for 20 minutes, standing in the cold, waiting for this freaking taxi to show up. It's cold (SF, don't you know), and I'm late. And I'm annoyed.

Why didn't I just wear the cool clothes all day?

I actually had a lot more to say. But, well, the moment is passed, and my anger at the taxi ride has dissolved. So, do I bother to post these half written glimpses of my life? I'm inclined to post them, as even unfinished, they help document events in my life I'm sure to forget, and documenting was one of my motivations for starting this whole site in the first place.

shrug

That, and tags.

And correct paths.

Ugh.