OK, SLK is in the house.  Scott Lou Keener.  Copyright.  Buzzing off of post softball beers and feeling OK about the preceding day.  Drew a cartoon. Plus, the Mighty Mites beat a bunch of duffers who clearly skipped little league for piano lessons or something.  And yes, I have to admit that being able to drop the ball centerfield on top of the Asian girl with her glove on the wrong hand still brings back some glimmers of self-admiration. Triple. And I made some nice grabs at shortstop. And down to Miller’s on Main where the UVA douche bags were out in force. Fast forward. Here is me drinking straight out of a pitcher of MGD and I think I’d better go before I set myself up for a hellacious Monday.

And back here, to a kitchenette overlooking a duck pond. Only no ducks! Ah, but if you close your eyes, you can picture yourself anywhere. Open them up and there is all the ordinary just waiting for you. Kitchen table cluttered with drawing stuff. Sparse fridge. Socks drawing on a chair (don’t ask me why). And the creeping feelings you got to keep down until bed. Things not to think about. Like why you got to hammer the ball at a girl that clearly cannot catch it? I know her. Her name is Lynne and I think I could call her tomorrow and say sorry, but that would sound slightly creepy or like a come on, or both. A creepy come on. And then I think maybe that’s probably why I wailed the ball at her. Because I like her, and smashing a softball at a woman is the 34-year-old version of putting gum in her hair.

And the cartoon isn’t all that great. The drawing is clumsy. It doesn’t say what I was trying say, not really. Loneliness isn’t a lunchtime. It’s a gas. It’s radon leaking up through the ground into everything until it sticks in all your cells. Maybe carbon monoxide is a better metaphor. But it doesn’t matter, because I can’t seem to push these thoughts to perfection, and all my attempts spoil in a day or two. Go bad like a bowl of fruit. I think I’ve got it only to come back a week later and find it all wilted mess. Fuck, and now I’m thinking about that girl, Lynne.