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The day seems to be improving
Sep. 23rd, 2010 02:59 pm...so I think now would be a good time to write this post.
So. Last night. Almost unmitigated disaster.
Are there any positive things I might say about it? Let me think for a bit... Yes, there are, in no specific order:
1) I didn't fall on my bum like Pinar did, and I'm eternally grateful for that, because I think I would've spontaneously combusted with embarrassment.
2) I think I'll participate in the diplomatic tournament, because the embarassment coefficient can't possibly climb any higher
3) I got to ogle Mr H in tennis outfit and... Can hormones boil over? It seems they can. I'm extremely picky when it comes to men's legs, and he passed the examination with flying colours. Also, the fact that his shoulders owe nothing to the tailor ought to be recorded. OK, he's sex onna stick, to make a long story short.
Now let's see if there are more than three negative things.
1) I was dead tired (only 5 hrs of sleep the night before, had to do home sports before leaving for tennis, in order to get some oxygen into my blood), had forgotten my glasses and we were playing by floodlight. Not a good combination.
2) I do not perform well under stress
3) Mr H is a bastard, although unfortunately it's a kind of bastardness I sympathize with since I, too, am the competitive type. Let me just say this: non-bastards modify their serve when they're playing against weaker players. His serves can only be called grievous bodily harm.
4) Yes there's more, but I'm determined not to start wallowing, so let's leave it at that.
Let me tell you, dear friends, that the mix of frustration, wounded pride and general tired- and blah-ness really dragged me down; I felt like shit after returning home, I slept badly, and this morning I was still feeling like shit.
But it got better. Firstly, coming into work and talking to people helps, even if it's talking about unrelated things or just wailing about how miserable I am.
Then I had an excellent Macedonian lesson, which at least reassued me as far as my mental capacities are concerned.
Then the boss came in and asked me about last night. He was very sympathetic and then he said, "If you want to try plaing against Mr H again and need some cannon fodder, tell me." I love him, I really do. So there might be a mixed double in the near future, with boss, Mr H, Pinar and myself.
Then Ana, my marvellous assistant, and I had an appointment in the city centre, and afterwards we went to pick up my trouser suit (legs and sleeves had to be shortened) and then had lunch together.
I wish... Oh, I wish I was't so caught up in the web of my own insecurities. I know it's just the way I am, and even though it's way better now than even a year ago, it's still a burden. Funny, isn't it, how something as trivial as two hours of playing tennis is able to reopen some of the deepest an most painful (emotional) wounds I have. Therapeutic tennis, so to speak. As therapies go, it's a little brutal, but I suppose in the end I'll see how it all made sense.
So. Last night. Almost unmitigated disaster.
Are there any positive things I might say about it? Let me think for a bit... Yes, there are, in no specific order:
1) I didn't fall on my bum like Pinar did, and I'm eternally grateful for that, because I think I would've spontaneously combusted with embarrassment.
2) I think I'll participate in the diplomatic tournament, because the embarassment coefficient can't possibly climb any higher
3) I got to ogle Mr H in tennis outfit and... Can hormones boil over? It seems they can. I'm extremely picky when it comes to men's legs, and he passed the examination with flying colours. Also, the fact that his shoulders owe nothing to the tailor ought to be recorded. OK, he's sex onna stick, to make a long story short.
Now let's see if there are more than three negative things.
1) I was dead tired (only 5 hrs of sleep the night before, had to do home sports before leaving for tennis, in order to get some oxygen into my blood), had forgotten my glasses and we were playing by floodlight. Not a good combination.
2) I do not perform well under stress
3) Mr H is a bastard, although unfortunately it's a kind of bastardness I sympathize with since I, too, am the competitive type. Let me just say this: non-bastards modify their serve when they're playing against weaker players. His serves can only be called grievous bodily harm.
4) Yes there's more, but I'm determined not to start wallowing, so let's leave it at that.
Let me tell you, dear friends, that the mix of frustration, wounded pride and general tired- and blah-ness really dragged me down; I felt like shit after returning home, I slept badly, and this morning I was still feeling like shit.
But it got better. Firstly, coming into work and talking to people helps, even if it's talking about unrelated things or just wailing about how miserable I am.
Then I had an excellent Macedonian lesson, which at least reassued me as far as my mental capacities are concerned.
Then the boss came in and asked me about last night. He was very sympathetic and then he said, "If you want to try plaing against Mr H again and need some cannon fodder, tell me." I love him, I really do. So there might be a mixed double in the near future, with boss, Mr H, Pinar and myself.
Then Ana, my marvellous assistant, and I had an appointment in the city centre, and afterwards we went to pick up my trouser suit (legs and sleeves had to be shortened) and then had lunch together.
I wish... Oh, I wish I was't so caught up in the web of my own insecurities. I know it's just the way I am, and even though it's way better now than even a year ago, it's still a burden. Funny, isn't it, how something as trivial as two hours of playing tennis is able to reopen some of the deepest an most painful (emotional) wounds I have. Therapeutic tennis, so to speak. As therapies go, it's a little brutal, but I suppose in the end I'll see how it all made sense.
