Out for weeks

"Mouthballers" had largely absconded this day's training session. Eight of us real aspiring footballers were in attendance. Mouthballers are those teammates who boss others around and complain much more than they eventually play. We were more concerned with ball being played than with arguing with the ceremonial referee's contentious decisions - what does he know? Is he not comfortably seated outside the playing area and declaring his opinions on infractions from far away? Just do what he says anyway and play ball. It was unfolding as the best training session we have ever had.

In the heat of the contest I received a pass on the right wing. With a simple sideways movement beat the defender and dribbled away from him. Just as I was clearing his space his knee struck mine and, alas, there was a sharp heavy impact between them, whence I keenly perceived a dislocation in my knee. I fell with a big shout.

The teammate with whom we suffered that delicate misfortune was genuinely sorry, his first instinct was to forget about the ball and turn towards me, closing in fast with outstretched palm and many expressions of regret. But I recoiled from contact and rolled away to protect the tender joint.

A quick thinking team mate convinced me to accept first-aid and he stretched the leg and bent affected knee back and forth a few times. The bones and muscles realigned properly yet not without  some tense friction. But I could soon stand up and limp somewhat.

Thanks to adrenalin the wound seemed alright so that I foolishly completed that training session. Eventually hours later after my excitement level was depleted I felt that the knee was actually badly. It would require a long rest period.

Nothing saddens a footballer more than a long period off the pitch. Even the actual pain hurts less than the long compulsory rest. It always turns into a real test of patience.

Hence the title. I'm out for weeks (maybe months, but optimism is preferred) thanks to injury. Not off the society though. Off the pitch. This should release to me more than enough hours and head space. 

I will report regularly on progress.

Middleman Mentality

That guy or girl who has no original ideas of their own but always hijacks other people's ideas by assuming executive capacity and bending over backwards to fill every power vacuum.

Is not exactly  in the heights of power but certainly anoints oneself with administrative duties.

Monopolizes channels of information. "All inquiries go through me. I will give you feedback."

They screen all comings and goings to protect their interests within the group, therefore they need the oversight role, with minute invasive micromanaging.

Very territorial about their perch on the big shot's shoulder so they may repeatedly parrot their agenda.

The undertone in their over-enthusiastic rhetoric is such: "Everybody owes the success of this endeavor to my neurotic meddling. This endeavor is my middle name."

While the team's success is to their credit, failure has nothing to do with them (you know, their "advice" was not followed properly, etc.)

They will balkanize the group to get themselves ahead via staged conflicts. They will vilify innocent bystanders to knock them down and become heroes.

They will not be sorry.

First Love

One imagines, one believes, that in days past
when one couldn't live without the other,
that the love was spontaneous, unrehearsed;
honest, unschooled by hurts;
awkward, hence unfeigned; 
pure.

One remembers ideal love
(or imagined it to have been thus
before second thoughts came along):
That the terrain was uncharted,
pristine, wild, beautiful, perilous;
so that one marveled and feared,
as wonders and horrors from either's mind
took colossal strides that shook your worlds;
one held fast to one's own mutually vulnerable other,
in turn was held close in pain or pleasure;
one's collateral was one's own heart,
one held nothing back

When one meets one's first other,
one mumbles mundane weather updates;
yet one imagines, one quietly fancies,
wishfully, unjustifiably,
that one knew the other perfectly
first loved and was loved 
as none other ever will

Because when that perfect chapter ended
both devoted the rest of their lives
to protecting themselves
from losing it again
by never finding it

(Or so one dreams.)

Do or Die

When couples commit themselves to counseling, it must be a drudge at first. I can picture each of them - the man in particular - fidgety, filled with reservations, apprehensive and downright suspicious towards the counselor.All these are manifest in his guarded answers, clipped phrases, hostile staring and crossed arms.

Lastly however the blame games his wife enthusiastically initiates with the counselor gradually draw him out of his shell. Finger-pointing Olympics begin in full earnest as he strives to apportion her just share of the train-wreck at hand.

I myself are many light years away from understanding married life, but stick with me. The example illustrates how when you first make a pledge or a resolution, the first few instances of complying with it rely on sheer will power to overcome self-generated resistance.

All this beating around the bush is to explain to you dear readers how comes last month's pledge to regularly update the blog is faring badly. It still feels like the first few sessions marriage counseling. By the time it comes to that, you know you're in hot water.

The first days of blogging, when one sets out, are like the beginning of courtship - thrilling for their uncertainty and unbounded possibilities.One puts one's best foot forward, one revels in the partner's lively qualities. But the years, they come; familiar routines sear themselves into one's mind, until one is thinking three steps ahead of their partner's next move. Unconsciously.

Suddenly, one humdrum day, one wakes up with a cold sweat on one's forehead, facing mid-life crisis and existential doubt.

Is this it?

As always, there's a lot I could (should!) report to you people from the end-times front. Of course. And then time and means must be allocated to encrypt selected episodes from my personal life. It just seems I'm much busier elsewhere lately, with few results to show for it, somehow.

Enough of that. I would now like to turn the spotlight on my fellow bloggers, who have largely gone quiet. It's a deterioration of literature from my point of view, and I'm holding them (you?) responsible for this literary Dark Ages that's started afresh. Sins of omission and that kind of thing. Missing in Action. Downed tools. Deleted blogs. A writer who doesn't write does not deserve the title.

Look who's talking.

If your failure to blog can be paralleled with unwillingness to attend marital counseling, let's brainstorm.