oh god. tomorrow.
there will be running and jumping and screaming.
there will be hoarseness and sportsmanship, and competition in unexected capacities.
there will be laughing, and rejoicing, at pointless things.
there will be numbers on a blackboard, growing or staying the same.
these numbers will determine the ebb and flow of emotions.
there will be racing pulses, and racing people, and cups and speeches and the victory stand.
as there always is.
it will be important.
it isn't, usually.
groan.
and then, relief.
no more running around, or shouldering myself into conversations, in desperate (and rather pathetic) emulation of the Fellow of Delicacy.
no more fiercely raging redness.
no more coaxing and bantering, no more being nice to pesky littles.
no more pushing myself, relentlessly ignoring reluctance.
no viciously pointful running and throwing and jumping.
a little higher, a little faster, a little better, you can do it.
after this, peace.
and doing things suitable.
ah.
5 comments:
i skipped it this year as well. and the next year... you will be one of the pesky biggies. and i shall go home and groan and ponder and write about it.
you will, i'm afraid, have to wait and experience what we've just been through before you fully understand the scale of the terribleness and pointlessness.
*shudders appreciatively* oh yes, you make awful posters and banners in post-office red do you not? whatever happens to them afterwards, i always wonder.
their mangled remains lie scattered across the lawn for the sweepers to come and pick up and throw away...
reminds me of sports day in school last month :D :D good times
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