A can of racquetballs.  I wanted purple ones, but they only had blue, so I got blue.

There’s just something about opening a new can of balls and pulling off that seal.

And the sound it makes when it bounces on the wood floor.

And the sound it makes when it hits the racquet and the strings vibrate.

It goes bouncing off at least one wall, hopefully the one I wanted it to.

And I’m pulled back in time to when I was first learning how to play.

It’s been almost 10 years since I last played.  Too long.

The racquet’s handle needs re-taping.

My muscles hurt this morning, the day after.  It was worth it.

It felt so good to hit something.  This, and wallyball, are the only ways in which I take out frustration & anger by hitting things.

It felt so good to hit that little blue ball with my racquet.  *99999999999998*

It felt so good to go chasing after it to try to get it back to the front wall.

It felt so good to laugh at myself when I missed.  That hasn’t changed.

It felt so good to see how many times in a row I could hit it and keep it going.

It didn’t feel so good to get hit in the face, but that’s the reason for protective eye wear.

I’m not nearly as good as I was once upon a time.  But that’s okay.

I need to work on my technique.  It’ll come back.

Then I’ll be making kill shots on purpose and serving those awesome serves on purpose.

Landing the ball exactly where I want to.

Until then, I’m going to practice.

I’m going to work on my technique, my control.

Then maybe I’ll issue a challenge or two.

By the way, Lil Boy added his own typing in here.  He’s a fan of chasing things.  He just wanted you to know.

He’s also a fan of laying on my arms and half my laptop as I’m trying to type.  Such a good little helper.