The game is sweet. A little crowded, but that can't be dealt with. One lame goal off my stick. Chillin' on the bench waiting for our next shift. We know the forwards to defend, and the defense to get past.
Then the teams get a shift.
A girl drops in after jumping her highschool class. All of a sudden the teams are a long ways from even anymore. She comes regularly. A friend of ours in this small town. Most of these two friendly teams are.
But we know she's good.
So the adrenaline kicks up. The game gets a little more seriously. Amazingly, we score two on our next shift. There goes our uneven argument. At least until we hit the ice again, and they score twice in those three minutes.
Competition.
Some of us wear it like a badge of honour. "I play to win". It separates us from the indifferent. It makes us competitors. If we're bent on winning we can't be losers... can we? The competitors are the ones who come out on top. You can't be the best at anything if you don't care whether you are or not. There's just too much competition. That job, that medal, that award or the scholarship. You have to want it badly enough to beat the others.
So, we're athletes. We can out skate you. We can learn to snowboard in a day. We can throw past first base, run a mile a minute. Whatever. You wanna take us on? Bring it!
And others don't seem to really care. So what if they're not better then anyone? Does it really matter if they don't want go out and overexert themselves? Or are some of these people competitive too? So scared if losing, of looking bad, of failing, that they're not even willing to get out there and try.
Who doesn't like to be admired for whatever they're forte may be? And yeah, maybe Tommy couldn't make the captain of the football team. Or maybe Jane will never win Most Popular. Ok, so maybe they don't even try. But they might get the strongest grades in class. Or Program computers at a rate most of us can't even imagine.
I actually admire people who are willing to try something new. Even if they know they might look foolish. Might not actually love it. Might not stand a chance of being the best.
Still, it's a enigma. Competition. I haven't come to any conclusions as to why we feel it. I suppose it's an useful emotion when it drives us to our fullest. But, take it from me. It's not necessarily a positive feeling. That doesn't make me avoid it. To feel anything is something I love to do. To feel the elation of winning... C'mon. I used the word elation! And to take losing. Oh, I can definitely do it. I'm not that bad. But if it's a situation where I've truly felt competitive, I'm not gonna like it.
So... We regrouped. Got our strongest defense on their strongest players. Started planning how we were going to play. Sitting on the bench talking about how they interfere with our goalie. How their strongest player has such clear advantages such as a longer stick, extra height, whatever it is that is the reason they're catching up. Then just playing.
Don't worry. If you don't understand a little good clean competition, you just might be. Nobody got hurt. We could still all stand around and laugh together after the game. In this case, with this crowd, we didn't actually get overly worked up. Maybe that's why this week makes for a good safe example.
besides, this game ended with a nice clean 3 all.

Thanksgiving comes at such a great time of year. You're a little depressed about losing summer, and gearing up for winter. Plus, you've been working pretty hard to get harvest all harvested. It's a holiday about nothing but food. Seriously. We cook all day... or two... and it all accumulates to one huge meal and a couple days of leftovers. Plus, you usually stop once or twice to really consider what you have to be Thankful for. And it's always a lot.

I like hockey. And I'm going to like snowboarding. I guess I need some sort of compensation for the fact that I'm still here.
I've moved into the house. It's warmer. But I'm getting kinda tired of it. I hate to admit this, but I would really love to just be able to move back into my house. Just unpack my stuff, look through my jeans, restock my fridge. I dunno. Just live, you know.
I don't even know if I want to be here. The problem is I don't even know where I do want to be. And it's driving me crazy. I'm taking English. Why? It's almost overwhelming. Why would I be starting something on that small of a scale at 23. I'm kidding myself, and I know it. Go back to school? Not happening! I won't commit, I won't decide, I won't pay for it, I won't bother. And I can't stand it. 'Cause I'm gonna be forty, single, and working at a fruit stand. Seriously. And that's depressing.
And now I'm ranting. And I'm gonna rant. I don't even care. Mom is reading us her old journals. All sorts of crazy stories from when we were kids. It's weird.
Next year I'll be 24. And 24 is old. It's older then 23 by quite a bit. I'm not sure why. It's a bigger difference then 22-23, or even 24-25.
I want to go to south America. I would like south America. They speak Spanish. I like Spanish. Spanish is sexy. Simple, amazing sexy language. I don't care if French is romantic. I don't like it. It's too hard. It sounds funny. And it doesn't make sense. And also, Latinos are more fun then French, I think. Although I did meet some pretty awesome southern French types on my trip.
And I like Quebecers. I don't know why. I'm from small town BC. Seriously, like Les Quebecois? Crazy. See, 'cause being from small town BC I'm not supposed to like Quebecers. And if I spoke French, well, there's never anything wrong with learning another language. And, especially in Canada, French would come in extremely useful.
So I'm 23. And going a bit mad. I really wanted to move to Quebec. But I'm guessing it wouldn't have been a good thing right now in the end. And I'm also living with too many people. I'm not just teasing them anymore. It's basically fighting 25% of the time. I think I'll get tired of sleeping on the couch in a sleeping bag. And going out to the bus any time I want to change my clothes. Plus, there's nothing to do here in the winter. Except, you know, English. Which is just dumb. Oh, and hockey and snowboarding.

Maybe I like that no one reads this any more. Maybe I like that I can just allude to what I'm really thinking, or feeling, without having to defend it to anyone. Maybe it's just nice that, even though I laugh and work and tease my brothers, I can sit down and type out a little bit of what's eating at me. And nobody will be affected.
I woke up feeling almost sick this morning after a pretty sleepless night. The crap some people have to go through is beyond terrible. And shouldn't ever have to happen to people. You know, that configuration of cells, that somehow is endowed with emotion, feelings, minds. I know it helps you grow. And I know God can work through it. Pain still sucks.
Not me. Just caring to much about other people and what they're going through. And hating that I can't make it better. Can't really do anything.
Indirectly affected. Indirectly involved.
I want to make specific comments. But I think I better not, 'cause even though nobody bothers with Barefoot in Summer, this is still the internet.
Let's just say I'm glad to have prayer. So many times it's been the only thing I have that feels at all effective.

My Mom is walking around the house in new dark wash skinny jeans. I'm not even kidding. I could hardly believe it when I saw her this morning. Meanwhile, I'm wearing my zig-zag patched, deep cuffed faded bootcuts that got left at my house five years ago. I'm not sure who this is more embarrassing for. My Mom is catching trends that I haven't bought into. A sure sign that they're not new or cutting-edge stylish. It's now time for flare jeans to be so last decade.

So, my Ex just broke up with the girl that was after me. Bringing it back to mind. She's talking to me about it. That guy get's in your head. And he had to work really hard to get to mine. I don't know why he made it in the end. A player, for sure. Though, thankfully it was I that left him. Anyway, none of that belongs to 2009. I can laugh about it now. Although I still care about him as a person in the end. Just nothing to do with me.