Sore-Ass Loser

I am a sore-ass loser. Literally. Yesterday was our first official game of flag football as the Golden Buddhas. As detailed in previous posts, I hurt my ass real bad about a week ago while snowboarding. And no cutie has come and massaged it for me. But that's besides the point. Anyways, playing football reminded me over and over again of how sore my ass was. And the loser part, well, we lost. While they say it takes a whole team to lose, I was guilty of dropping the ball on a potentially game-winning play.

So lame. Third overtime. All we needed was one yard. I got semi-open off the line, ball is thrown to me, hits me in the side of the stomach, bounces off. Next possession. The other team goes six yards, and we fail to complete the ensuing pass play for ten yards to win the game. Why did I drop the ball? Nerves? Nah. I usually thrive on pressure. Was I already worrying about running before catching the ball? Perhaps.

I dropped the ball. Ironic how that is a metaphor for my life of late: since last summer, more so since 2006 began, and decidedly so last week. Thank God I thrive on pressure, because that's all my life's been about. Yeah, I'm a lucky dude. Roof over my head, I ain't impoverished like 80% (a rough estimate) of the world's inhabitants, I have an education, blah blah blah. But I'm one who feels that when you have these sort of "leg-ups" on other people in life, you have to take advantage of it, and try as I might, I haven't been able to yet. Job search is going poorly -- what do you do when you're overqualified for the positions you apply for, and potential employers ask you why you're leaving an industry that, often times, they themselves dream of being a part of? Trying to move out of the 'rents house -- not that it sucks there at all -- but need to be more independent, and, in a sense, start watching over mainly myself more. Health, my ass is still sore, so I haven't been able to push as hard as I like, or so I tell myself. And women. We won't go there.

Oh yeah, back to dropping the ball. Two Sundays ago, I wrote a song with a friend. Solid song, didn't take long, the type that would make a girl lose her thong. Just kidding about the last part, I wanted to rhyme. But yeah, the song, which was written for our friends' wedding, has a sweetness to it. More importantly, I once again was reminded of my passion in life; music, in particular, songwriting. Though I'm a humble dude, I have to say I write fucking catchy-ass melodies. I was pumped. The feeling was like the one I had when I made my first catch in football yesterday, multiplied by 100. I wanted more.

So I decided while making my "goals" list for the week to work on music a lot last week, after all, it makes me happy, right? Listened to my scratch recordings and took notes on how we could improve them on Monday; continued writing two songs on Tuesday with a new friend, a talented female singer-songwriter who's a little too shy about her talent for her own good -- hmmmm, sounds familiar; hung out with a friend on Wednesday and showed her the musical goods, then went home and reworked them some more; started recording a pop-R&B remake of Country crooner Brad Paisley's "Little Moments" for my friends' wedding CD on Thursday; worked with Emu on our two-year-old chick bait song, "Just Wait for Me," on Friday then tore up my vocal chords at karaoke with him, Penguin, Penguinette and Mei Mei; and went to some church's Valentine's Day celebration on Saturday, where I played impromptu backup keys for performers.

Sounds like a good week, doesn't it? Truth is, it was the second worst week I've had this year, mainly because I dropped the ball. In trying to rediscover music, I almost completely neglected job hunting, neglected friends, missed appointments, overscheduled, didn't watch my health as much, etc. Sure, I can make excuses like "my ass hurt so I it's only right that I take it easy," or "I rediscovered the passion I've been missing, so it's okay that I fucked up here and there," or "financial stability isn't as important as true happiness." All those things may be true, but fundamentals should've come first. Keep your eye on the ball. Take care of the dirty work before thinking about scoring. You can celebrate with the happier things in life after busting a few mouths on your way to the endzone.

So what's the solution? Balance. Way easier said than done, especially for me, since once I truly get into something, I go all out plus 50 percent. And these days, I'm trying to go all out on improving my life, and adding music back into the mix on a regular basis, while a necessity, will be a challenge. Balance will most likely come at the expense of sleep, which leads to a very unbalanced lifestyle. I'll figure it out. I have too. I feel there's too much at stake these days in my life to let everything I've been working at fall apart, and time's running out -- gotta find the happy balance. While luck has never really been on my side, there is one thing that has always gotten me through the tough shit. I am a pressure performer. Yeah, I'll probably drop the ball again, many times, and that bugs the shit outta me. But soon enough, I'll be doing my little combination Running Man/Cabbage Patch in the endzone. Word.

On a quick side note, the work week started out great -- with an uber-morning shit.