T.G.I.F.

If I knew 2 weeks ago what I know now ... I think maybe I would have just called in sick for the next 2 weeks.

: )

Ah, life. Suffice it to say that there are honest mistakes, and there are malicious mistakes, and there are negligent mistakes. I, of course, have made a few of the in-between kind, though I try try try not to be malicious, ever; still, it happens. Or, rather, it has happened, and I (and others) have paid the price. Dearly. And there are the former, the honest mistakes, and many times, thankfully, no one gets hurt. In fact, sometimes no one even notices, and you shrug your shoulders and go on. What really stinks is when you combine honest effort with negligence and end up with a mistake ... because you know you were trying really really hard to get it right, but because you did not take that one extra step, you ended up making a mistake.

Sometimes, it is a tiny one; sometimes, it is a doozy. And, inevitably, someone gets hurt. Which also really stinks.

I am sure there are other kinds of mistakes, but I am done thinking about mistakes right now.

Right now, I have k.d. lang singing on the stereo, despite the fact that the local football team is playing (and winning) and I probably should be listening to the radio because it is a close, exciting game, and just one year ago I would have been on the sidelines, cheering on the local team and taking notes and pictures and what-not, but these days, I do not go, and I do not miss it. And I feel as if I should, but I do not.

Right now, the only writing that truly interests me is this: Me, writing about stuff that is on my mind. And the frequent e-mails to various friends Out There, and the type-type-typing of an occasional chat with people on my Buddy List (which also includes my mom, who might just be my best buddy of all), and posting in places where various friends and others post in return, supporting me or debating me or smiling over something I have written. And the vignettes that fill my mind, sometimes, all part of the Larger Story that begs to be written, sometime, someday, maybe soon, hopefully soon ... as soon as I quit filling the gaps with irrelevant words that do nothing except keep me writing ... which, I suppose, keeps me writing.

(Keeps me sane?)

(Nah.)

This time next week, I will be on vacation. THIS makes me smile ... as does disco music, I reminded myself earlier this week as I blasted Saturday Night Fever through the earphones at work.

: )

I hate when the only name on my Buddy List is faded. IDLE.

: (

One of the boys I used to write about has died.

His name is Brandon. No one is quite certain how he died. Police found his body on a road near an exit ramp, from which he had apparently fallen 80 to 100 feet. And it seems that the only reason he was not killed immediately was because he had hit some trees on the way down. He lived for 2 weeks after the incident, from what I have been told, and then he was taken off the respirator, and he died.

No one knows how he fell. Did someone push him? Did someone hit him with their car? Did he jump?

All that anyone knows for certain is that he is dead.

He was 21 years old. A few years ago, he was a starting pitcher for the high school baseball team in this town. A tall right-hander. Blond hair. Easy smile.

I have known him since he was a kid ... which is actually what he still is, to me. He played at every level of baseball, every summer, and his mom used to bring in write-ups about the games. I used to semi-dread seeing her, in fact, because she was SO thorough ... but deep down, I was quite grateful.

One thing I learned as a sports editor is that a lot of people like reading that stuff, long as you spell the names right.

: )

I have an image of this boy in my mind. It is a photograph I took, of him, after the season had ended his senior year. The team finished fourth in the state, which was better than any h.s. team here had done, and he was a big part of the record-setting season. Anyway, the coach had me come out to the park, where our team plays on a well-cared-for field (complete with a grass infield and enclosed dugouts) and take a picture of the boys in their uniforms, with all their trophies for the season.

And after I was done, Brandon was showing me how grungy his cap was. It was maroon with a white B on the front, but it was frayed and rather dirty, as if he had worn it every day for the past 4 years, or longer. And he sort of smiled as he held the cap out in front of him and I took a picture.

That is how I will remember him, always.