Which you would appreciate if you read the children’s book of a similar title. While the bad week that started Monday didn’t end on Sunday, the outlook has been reinvented by a little bit of ice and a little more insanity. Nothing went particularly well this week, except my birthday party (thanks to B and the lovely attendees) and I thought hey, why start Sunday, as I laid on my couch staring at the ceiling in bitter wonder.
I laid there until about 9 p.m., when I picked up a book I still hadn’t finished on the evils of human genetic manipulation and read that, scatterbrained, until I happened to look at the time on my phone at 9:58 p.m. I thought for a minute that I could go to bed early in my pitiful state, or I could drive to Redwood City and see if there really was skills clinic at the rink tonight.
At 11 p.m. on a Sunday, there were only six people at clinic, but all the coaches showed up and so we skated. Screw Sunday — on the 8th day, God skated, and He had a blast. I will admit I made my usual attempt at being cranky, but Paul and Crush and Jackie would have none of it, and taunted me at least until I realized how difficult I was being. We scrimmaged, and I skated until I had to sit down due to a lack of protein in my diet and completely not expecting to have to actually be fit tonight.
It was fantastic. I left grinning, something I haven’t managed to do the entire week. Remind me, if I mention quitting hockey again in the future, how ridiculous I sound.
