I like to go to baseball practice. The players are hitting, shaggin balls, doing work. Coaches are making them better. The best part about it is, I think, the fence. It separates that world with the one I live in. I think the baseball field always makes sense. (as does the football field) There are rules. Hard work pays off, and you either hit or go home. You can't blame anyone else if the ball comes to you and don't make the play. You have to suck it up and hopefully get the next one. I like it. There is no hypocrisy. It's a game. When it's over, it's over.

I was thinking today about what I have to say. It's the question any writer, whatever caliber, asks. What do I have to add to the conversation? Seriously. Nothing. But, I love to put my life into words. It makes things real. If I don't talk about it, I'm usually pretending it's not what it is. If I start talking, it's over. Wrapped up and figured out. I tend to not want to talk about the bad things. I do this on purpose. I don't like giving legs to the shitty stuff. I will keep that in a long time. Until there is no denying it. I was married 13 years before I started talking about the marriage I was in. Carole knows this.

So here's to the perfect escape of a game and words that define life and sometimes demand action. I am ok.