Calendar

I grew tired of nightly walks to the Court of Pickleball. So here's some other random thoughts. But are they actually random? I was glancing through my phone calendar last night. Just going back in time on it. Looking at everything I had scheduled from 2020 all the way back to 2010. Work at Coral Desert as a Physical Therapist Assistant (from 2021 - 2015). College classes during my post-PTA schooling (my second attempt at making something of myself, from 2018 - 2016). My clinical rotation schedules which took place at Dixie Regional, then Orchard Cove in Bountiful, then Dixie Regional again (2015 - 2014). PTA classes (from 2014 - 2012), which brought memories of Jared Lundquist yelling at us in "Observation and Measurement," and Jill Milkkelson yelling at us in "Fundamentals of Physical Therapy" and constantly threatening to fail me (for reasons I never figured out), and Drew Wilcox teaching us therapy principles usually followed by making us watch clips of Duck Dynasty, work at CaptionCall during those years (2014 - 2012) and before that, work at the Washington Community Center (from 2012-2010) manning the climbing wall, and then at some point, working two jobs, one at the community center, and one at Menchie's froyo (2012-2010 ish), and then the pre-PTA college classes, and interspersed throughout those were home teaching visits, and sunday school presidency meetings at church, and then on June 6, 2010, everything stopped. Because that's the day I turned 23 and I got my first Apple device (my first ipod touch), and all these "schedulings" began. Not that I wasn't busy before that. It just wasn't shown on the "Apple Record of My Life." Man, I sure used to be busy.

The Final Woo

Tuesday night - Tonight's walk starts a bit later. At 11:30. This is not healthy. Or is it? I'm walking. I even speed it up a bit. But I should be sleeping. Why am I not sleeping? But I'm curious if PickleBall Club is at it again tonight, and of course they are, I can hear them clearly from my front yard. The house with the sad girl whose mom died is silent tonight. The air smells fresh for a minute, then I'm hit with a whiff of Roundup when I walk past one particular yard at the end of the street. This town loves Roundup. The chemical of choice for people who are obsessed with pristine lawns. I cross Salem Canal to the church parking lot, then across the grassy field to the fence. I watch them for a minute. By this point, it's quarter to midnight. They're younger folks. Teenagers? Early to mid 20s? They never sleep I guess. Neither did I at that age. Neither do I now. I start back. At 11:58, nearer my house, I hear one last WOO! and one last AURGHHH! coming from the pickleball court. Again, I'm walking quickly. Letting my fat just flow with me. I stop. My body is pulsating. Weird. What is happening. WOO! AURGHHH!

Balls of Pickle

Mon night - 11:15 PM Walking outside. I can hear loud voices, yelling to the southeast. I assume it’s pickleball. People here love their pickleball. I walk over to the church on Salem canal road. There’s about 20 people playing pickleball at the courts there. One music device is playing Billy Joel (My Life). Another device is playing country music. Everybody is really loud. I’m not mad though. Why should I be mad? I’m curious, so I watch them all like a creeper for a few minutes, hidden behind a fence. I wish deep down that one of them would turn and somehow see me through the fence, say “who the hell…?” And then I would take off running. Just to give them all something to talk about, besides pickleball. Later on, I walk past another house, where a girl is arguing with somebody, and crying, and she says “I wish my mom was still alive, because she believed in me!” A male voice says “She did believe in you! She did!” And some more arguing. The dialogue sounds like they're filming a soap opera. Maybe they are. I try to eavesdrop behind a tree. This is risky. Kinda hard to hear everything because of the noise of the pickleball people. Of course, I want to join in this conversation, just jump out from behind the tree, and be like “All right, fill me in. What’s the haps? Who died? I want to be part of this.” But they probably won’t like that too much, especially at 11:40 at night. And I don’t do things people don’t like.

Welcome

I don't think anybody blogs anymore, but here's another one, which will largely consist of my night adventures. I can't imagine that there will be a lot of exciting things going on in Salem, Utah at night. But you never know. Surely, the City of Peace holds some weird secrets. I also don't know what "Technicolor Pull Aparts" means. The phrase was in a dream I had last night. It sounds like some sort of very colorful yummy pastry turnover thing. I suggested to my wife that she make some (we've had success with dream -> reality food in the past with Sweet Potato Bowls), but they sound too full of artificial dyes apparently!