I did go to the library today, eager to make up for yesterday's (and really, the last few days') lack of writing focus. It was very difficult to want to write, despite having gone to the place where my brain has been trained is for writing.
Wow, "The New Model," the Natalie Whitmore-centric D&B story I wrote in the summer is over 23K words. That's double what I would've guessed it was. Meanwhile, I have managed 68 words today.
Today, as you may remember, was the day that the election was to be certified in Washington DC, and Joe Biden finally "officially" proclaimed the next president of these United States. And so, our current president, Donald J. Trump, held a rally of his die-hard supporters, and encouraged them to storm the Capital . . . which they did, breaking in, smashing windows, defacing property, and taking selfies the whole time, while members of Congress hid in underground shelters.
Here in the library, it's hard not to want to watch (though wincing throughout) at what is happening in our country. We have become, in just four short years, one of those far-off lands where mobs hold sway and violence is a constant thing.
This was a dark, dark day in America . . . but I can't really say how it was any darker than the last few weeks, and if I want to really get depressed, I might extend that to the last few years.
I recall sitting on the subway in Chicago (this would've been 2018) and seeing a sticker on the back of one of the seats that said "Such Tiny Hands, So Much Blood."
Push-ups Today: 50
Push-ups In January: 513
Sit-ups Today: 100
Sit-ups In January: 703
My little sister had a long shift at work tonight, and my big sister is still sick with COVID, so I was chosen to take my nephew to his basketball game. It was at the rec center, which I hadn't been to in several months, and I have the lovely memory of someone calling the police on me at a couple of years ago (the cops were friendly and apologized, but it wasn't extremely pleasant. Guess that'll teach me to grow a beard).
The rec center was absolutely loaded with people, many of whom were there to work out . . . in leggings. Up on the second floor, there were exercise bikes, and I could see them cycling away as I sat there watching my sister's kid's team get humiliated for an hour. Well, at least we were wearing masks.
Anyway, my nephew was on a team of kids, playing against a team of, well, whatever you are when you're between kid and men. These boys were all taller, a couple of them were quite muscular, and even though they couldn't make a basket for shit, they could still play b-ball better than my nephew's team. It would have been funny, if I were the kind of person that enjoyed seeing elderly people fall down stairs or motorcyclists get hit by trucks (there are plenty of people like that out there--my uncle regularly "Shares" videos of people violently impacting walls, vehicles, or the ground--and let's not even mention 4-Chan). Before my nephew even got off the bench, the score was ten to zero.
He got into the game, and I watched him run up and down the court, but it was unpleasant to say the least. Soon, it was 21 to 2. 23 to 2. 25 to 2. 26 to 2. 29 to 4. Finally, as they reached halftime, somebody decided to turn off the scoreboard, which I vaguely remembered was a rule in these sort of things, but was still surprising to see. And the thing that was most disheartening, in my view, wasn't the score, but that the opposing team could simply not sink a basket: they would shoot and miss, then get the rebound, then shoot again and miss, then grab the rebound, then shoot again, and rebound, and shoot until it finally went in. Kayden's team was just incapable of getting the ball until it was handed to them after a basket was eventually made.
I had brought a book with me, and I hardly ever read, despite wanting to, so I must admit that I spent most of the last half with my head buried in it.
Words Today: 557
Words In January: 3542
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