Soccer is over and I'm over it. So it isn't that. Lakers won the championship again this season. Love them to death but am over basketball as well. Baseball, yeah right. Cricket, eh. I watch it here and there, make sure I know all the gossip that goes around and leave it at that. Let's see what else I missed. Anything that isn't a national league doesn't count so that might be it. And before you judge me, I'm a girl. Sports don’t really set my adrenalin pumping.
I'm, no points for guessing, alluding to the waiting game. It's a different beast which can kill like slow poison. Suffocate you with anticipation until you can breathe no more. If you do the math, it's usually an embarrassing number that will be the number of hours over the life time that one has gawked at the phone to ring after cleverly handing out a card at a party. Or refreshed a page for that one email to show up and transform your life. Of course it turns out that it was a silly silly email with no impact whatsoever. That one response to your tweet that you're hoping for, just because your bared your soul in front of perfectly random strangers hoping someone will understand the exact tone and meaning behind it. That nod of approval you were expectantly scanning your boss's face for after you justified why you should go to Vegas for that preposterous conference along with a smart joke. That one expression on better half's face after you decided to royally ditch him for a trip some place exotic with your girlfriends.
My timing is epic. Ok I promised not to use that word anymore. Everyone everywhere is calling everything 'epic' lately. Next up is 'rad'. Someone snap at me if I use rad. The wine in my hand and my age have convinced me that I'm past the using-a-cool-word-to-escape-thinking-about-what-the-real-word-should-be phase. Here's the real deal. I invariably end up cursing my timing. Don't know what it is but I'm the queen of wrong place, wrong time. Feel oh so lucky. Blessed, really. If there are a million outcomes for every waiting game I've played, a million minus one interesting and one that falls under the general category of god-has-a-sense-of-humor, guess what fate would pick for me.
I think I finally might have an upper hand on fate though. I've figured out the magic rule. Tested it thrice. Works wonders. So am running with it. It's called 'moving on'. And for the record, I'm not saying it indignantly.