Parcels and Sports

Tracking claims I have packages in the building and another arriving today (please!) or maybe tomorrow.

The packages that should be here are not at my desk.

I am mildly distraught. Thank goodness I'm not a melodramatic, whiny... oh wait.. I am that.

Shit.

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Ah, sports. Not my thing. My earliest memories of playing dodge ball (or baseball or softball or football or soccer... oh god... soccer) are all tainted by horrific experiences of humiliation due to a pronounced lack of coordination on my part.

And the mockery that followed really didn't help much.

So the other day I'm returning from a... well, I can't call it a "run" because that would be inaccurate. A "jog"? Is "jog" subjective? An outing that consisted of moving from point A to point B and back at a speed that was faster than walking but slower than an aged person in a walker racing a snail.

I digress.

After a couple of miles of this exercise thing, I'm staggering/crawling home and wheezing like Darth Vader's asthmatic brother when I encountered my neighbor and her son playing badminton across the street.

They paused the game to say "hi" (and presumably verify that I wasn't about to die on the sidewalk) and asked if I played badminton.

Cue the flashback to high school and sports. Ever had a scenario in a school gym where you slide along the polished floor and your skin along your knees and elbows get burned away by that surface?

That's the memory that cued up in my mind. I'm mildly-surprised the skin grew back, actually.

My neighbor explained that badminton is very popular among Chinese communities. I dunno if it really has a broad appeal among the various parts of Chinese communities, but I know many of my co-workers and friends who are ethnically Chinese enjoy it (as do many who are not, so I dunno that being Chinese means anything in this context but I wasn't the one who brought it up).

I felt a little bad about begging off the oblique offer to join them in vollying in badminton. Still, I had barely enough energy to get into the building and climb the hated, hated stairs. Actually attempting anything that involved motion and a racquet was just asking for me to faceplant into the concrete of the sidewalk.

What's my point? I dunno. I enjoy chatting with my various neighbors. They're all really nice. I regret not pausing a little longer to talk. The timing is rarely good, alas.

And I hate to think I'm volunteering for future sporting events. I like to keep my skin intact.

See above re: melodramatic and whiny.