Tuesday, September 29
T's About To Spill: Regretted ThingsThere are a lot of things I regret. One is not following through with cross country in seventh grade. I also regret going out with half the people I went out with. Lastly, I regret not caring.
My Uncle Frank died late last week. My parents recently started going to his house every Sunday. I only went once. Of course, at the rosary/memorial thing, nobody remembered my name. Not his wife, not his daughter. Nobody. They remembered Dar though.
The second Sunday my family went, I had my period. I didn't want to go. The third Sunday they went, I had homework. They were gone for approximately five hours, since the drive there was very long. I spent four hours watching TV, and one hour on homework. Talk about setting my priorities straight. Nothing was in the correct order. Instead of "God/my family, school, leisure", I switched everything around.
T's About To Spill: Libero Stuff*Sigh. I really hope my passing is okay. Dar said she saw a paper with the names of the girls on the varsity team. Next to my name, she said, was a question mark. There was one next to Alexis' too. Is she lying? What was the list for? Far East? Hopefully not.
I love being a libero, but I hate being told what I'm doing wrong. I KNOW what I'm doing wrong. Sometimes, maybe, I should be told to call for the ball louder, or pass anything two feet to my right, or know where I'm standing. Otherwise, I don't need someone to tell me to get the pass "there". DUH! I KNOW where the pass should go. I mean, would I pass to the ten-foot line just because I want to upset the setter? Of course not! Tips from my teammates are great, but honestly...I know what to do. Sometimes, I just CANNOT do it, and I just make up excuses in my head so I can be prepared for a bad remark next time. Sometimes, I intentionally look really sad, so my teammates can think I'm having a bad day or something. But in both cases, I'm really mad. It feels as if my brain is telling my body to do something, but the communication between my mind and forearms is dead. What else explains it?
So I've come to a conclusion. Figuratively, my brain has nothing to do with what I do on the court. It's all instinct, I think. For example, I play super suckily when I have to think about what I'm doing. But, if it's an intense, fast-paced game, i excel. In practice, if I'm digging Cruz's hits, and he lectures to me like, every other hit, I will pass half of those balls. If I'm digging my teammates' hits, I do good. I don't have time to think because each of them are told to hit me. Hard. (Coach Cruz thinks I can't hear what he's saying to them.)
Or maybe I'm totally off, and it's all in my head. Maybe this is just pure coincidence, and I'm making a lot out of it. Maybe.
email:statified21@hotmail.com
Meet T'Mar:
Tami’s the name
Blogging’s the new game
Simon Sanchez is the school
Where sharks totally rule
Fourteen is the age,
The volleyball court is my cage
I also like to paddle,
And school, I can handle
Need I say more?
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