9 Innings of Therapy

For those who’d rather listen to the blog post than read, press play.


bark1So after a crap week of rainouts, and an almost rainout I took to believe would be a rainout, I go to work Tuesday to find out my company is moving to Florida.

I guess Karma heard what I said to Mother Nature about drilling me. Except, she went to put one inside my ear and knocked me flat on my ass in the process.

We were all given two choices. Move with them and they will give us our jobs, same salary, reasonable moving expenses, a couple of months rent and such. In all honesty, they’re wonderfulyl generous to their employees. Option two – stay and find new work.

I am not moving. I will stay and have to find new work.

So if ever I needed therapy, NOW is the time.

that same day, of course, I don’t go to a game. I go straight home and talk with Stacy. Get her up to speed. We breathe in through our noeses, out through our mouths and know everything will be OK. We have gone through worse. This is upsetting, and it is trying and it is distracting but it is not the end of the world.

Go to hell, Karma. Suck an egg, Mother Nature.

This is not to say I am not still fucked up over it. Believe me. I am. But I’ll still get up without dusting myself off.

the weather was clear the next day – a rarity if you read my prior blog post. I looked at Stace. Stace looked at me. “I want to go,” I tell her. “Go!” she tells me, with a smile. “Get these dishes done first though,” she continues.

Not sure if she is joking or not about the dishes I get them done straight quick, get a kiss and an amazing hug from her and I head to another Somerset Patriots game.

When I tell you nine innings of baseball on a beautiful evening can be therapeutic, you can believe me. Granted it is not for everyone. But you already know as you read this if it is for you.

It is for me. You’ve likely gathered that already. Besides, the way I see it, at most its $14 a seat for two plus hours of therapy.

Show me one therapist worth their salt that gives you that rate?

Sure. Maybe it DOESN’T change the circumstances, but it does provide a fine distraction.

Selfishly speaking, however, I would rather they not be on the road for the next week. I just hate it when my therapists are out of town.


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