My short walks from the gym to the office have produced bucketloads of sweat – as if I ran the stretch.
I couldn’t really complain. Calamities (earthquakes and volcanic eruptions) are much worse.
Nothing to do but adapt. Even during what’s supposed to be the onset of the rainy season, nothing seems more practical than short-sleeved shirts and everything in cotton. (What I would do to be able to wear shorts!)
How do you like my Hardware version of tennis bracelets?
The last thing I should do though is to let myself be slowed down by the heat.
Hide in the shade like a cold-blooded reptile.
Have to stay hydrated!
The game is long, with innumerable breaks and sets.
Not to mention rest and repair pitstops.
No sense in getting myself sick because I’ve overestimated my pace.
Oh, yes, this is the point where I ramble and rant about how little time I have left in the court.
How long I’ve watched from the bleachers.
Counting the home runs that cast momentary shadows.
I should shut up now and just continue working.
Though of course I’ve edited all these pics and I must go on rambling (ha!).
Truth be told, I’ve never played tennis in my life. (I know more about economics than the sport.)
No matter how much I like tennis bracelets. (This set of three named after Anne Rice’s vampires, because, well, they remind me of sarcophagi.)
And sometimes get absorbed watching games.
But I’m too old to be competitive.
Even envious and self-pitying.
Have to keep my eyes on my own horizon.
Sleep more often.
Dream of entanglements.
Forgive debts, forget grievances.
Keep my tongue in check.
But also keep bridges blackened and burnt down to ashes.
Let me sound like a serpent hissing in the grass.