Forced to kneel in the mud next to me

Song of the Hour: Crazy by Gnarls Barkley
                                    Assorted G's from Grandaddy to GLB

So, in all this silence, I'd like to tell you I had accomplished great things. Joined Greenpeace, or signed up as a Cancer research assistant, maybe even picked up roadside litter. But no. That would be lying.
I spent last week watching 3 seasons of Veronica Mars so I'd catch up in time for the finale on Tuesday. Which I did. Which has left this gaping VM shaped hole in my life. The other shows I've watched from beginning to end-- Buffy, Angel, X-Files, Star Trek TNG-- had all known they were canceled in advance, and thus provided an ending. VM didn't, and left its fans with a tricycle-tassel-full of hanging threads. I'm not going to rant too much, but it was VERY, VERY DISAPPOINTING. More disappointing than Carnivale. More disappointing than the Matrix trilogy. More disappointing than finding out that Howie Day was dating Britney Spears. Very, Very Disappointing.

I've started summer school, and my intense, high stress, 4 day a week Bowling class is up and running. There's a science to Bowling, and I am its mad scientist. There is a textbook. There are angles and linear fulcrums and slippery soled shoes. There is form, force, tilt, and balance. There are balls and pins and gutters. For the low, low price of $220, you too can bowl 4 hours a week with teenagers dressed in stylish NCSU fashion wear; you can listen to the instructor use titillating military jargon as you attempt to "deliver" the ball and "execute" a strike. You, too, can escape having to take the only remaining available PE at UNC, "Lifeguard Training" by stealthing your way into another university's summer program. You, too, can benefit from my genius.

In other news, the social overload from my last post left me in a cocoon of anti-sociality that I have yet really to shake. I did take some time to finish a short story. It's not good for anything other than an exercise, but it was nice to finish something on my own that had nothing to do with school. Andy has determined that we will both get published somehow somewhere this summer, and his enthusiasm is infectious so I'm on board. It demands a level of courage to which I'm not accustomed, but I'm trying.
As a testament to my growing pro-activity, I managed to overcome my overwhelming and overwhelmingly bizarre social anxiety last week, and took care of a problem I've put off forever. 2 1/2 years ago I joined a gym and signed a 1 year contract. The next day I fucked up my back trying to lift a 6x12 Uhaul trailer at a bad angle, and didn't go back to the gym. Eventually months passed, and honestly I was just too embarrassed to go back in general for not having gone at ALL, so I never went back. The gym auto-renewed my contract for a second, and then a third year, so that I have now spent $500 on a membership I never even picked up my card for.Why didn't you just go by there and talk to them about it, you say? Why, because I'm retarded, of course. That kind of confrontation is the bane of my existence, and in my screwy mind it was worth the monthly fee just to avoid it. So I did. But something possessed me the other day, and I drove straight there and went in and was as nice as I could possibly be and worked it out. Of course, it was a piece of cake and I feel ridiculous for having put it off for so long, but well, that's how I roll. Point is, score 1 for pro-active me.

I have a Joss story I wanted to share, but it's going to have to wait. Now that schools out we've been spending a lot more time together, and it's been a little rocky. I think the child genuinely believes that the word "No" means "Ask again in a either a more demanding or more pleading tone". It's very, very frustrating. Anyway.
We went outside yesterday to toss a football around, and I was shocked at how good he was. He throws straight and the ball does that twisty spirally thing.  The last time we went to the  park (last summer) to play he didn't want to catch it because it hurt his arms and he'd curl up and duck when I threw it to him. I don't give a damn about sports really, but he'll get no end of torture if he employs the duck-and-hide strategy playing with other boys; so I tried to coax him out of it but he got mad and stopped playing. But he seems to have grown out of it now, and says "Watch this mom!  I'm the all time QB!" every time he throws. I have no idea what that means exactly, but he's determined to be a quarterback. Except when he misses. Then he says "I'm really a soccer player, you know."
What a goof. Well, at least he won't get beaten senseless during recess for cringing. What the hell am I gonna do when he tries out for a varsity team? Have a heart attack, I guess. My kid the football player. Jesus. Well, they're his knees, his choice. :)

Ok, enough for now. Sorry for lameness of post. I think the interesting part of me died during the VM finale. Ah, Logan, I'll miss you so.