Baba Yaga

Is it sick that I only get the inspiration to write when I’m sad?  I’ve been wanting to put pen to pad for a while now but didn’t have any source material from which to draw.  Now if this sad thing is true, then that means I’ve been relatively happy.  Is it better to be happy and boring or sad and creative?

Just finished up the worst season of my head coaching career, and you know what, I’m not that miserable.  In years past, I would normally be one step away from harakiri.  Don’t get me wrong, it really sucked, but it wasn’t life ending sucked.  It was a giant mix of putting my laundry away sucked, cleaning up dog shit sucked, and you couldn’t wait to get home but someone ate the leftovers you were craving sucked.

Why wasn’t it Thanos snaps his finger sucked? (You know what’s another level of sucked?! The meal, service, and price at Mesa St. Grill.  IYKYK).  I have the best people.  Miles is, well, better than any person I’ve ever met.  My friends got me, got me.  My girlfriend is an angel and thinks the world of my raggedy ass.  My coworkers, the ones I fuck with anyway, are super supportive and appreciate the never ending work we all do together.

But my happy makes me uneasy.  I’m in my bag when I’m in my dark place.  I coached my ass off when my marriage was falling apart.  I’m in my best shape during breakups.  The shows, movies, and music I love are twisted.  Where does motivation come from if not from hurt feelings?  Am I going to lose my edge because of this new peace?  And another thing, honestly, I like being angry.

Maybe I should take a scene out of Michael Jordan’s The Last Dance and find something trivial to take personally.  With the nonsense that I deal with on the daily, it would be really easy.  Growth?  Transcendence?  Stay above the bullshit?  Nope.  New Year, Old Me.  Let’s.  Fucking.  Go.