The Finite

So at 1:30 Chris and friends come into my room and invite me to go sledding on the local hill. So we walk there, and I don’t even get down the hill the first couple of times and when I do, I get turned around. There’s a divot halfway down that the front of my sled got caught on so I went from sledding to sliding my ass down a muddy frozen hill headfirst, ending up with dirt on my boxers. I blame my sucky abs which can’t adequately control my center of mass. Not until the last run down Slayter Hill did I finally slide all the way to the bottom and my “sled” was stopped by the concrete curb at the bottom of the hill. Well, the sled stopped. I kept going, bouncing off the concrete lip and sliding across the icy tiled patio above it. Unable to stand up again, I was furiously rubbing the bruise on my ass where it hit the curb.

We called it quits after that and started walking home. So I pick up a piece of black frozen slush off the ground that I thought was cool because it sorta looks like an arrowhead. I throw it at Chris who swings at it with his “sled”. The chunk fractures and one piece goes straight forward and hits me in the head. Do I ever get a glancing blow or a graze? No. The projectile hits me in the middle of my forehead. Apparently, the way I fell was the most comical it could have possibly been according to Dylan; my arms flew backwards and one foot went into the air and I landed on the asphalt flat on my back, black snow melting into my eyes.

That takes me back.

Why can’t “the sniffles” have more adult sounding name? I’ve had them for a couple days now and I can’t see why I can’t suffer from some advanced-sounding Latin nomenclatured name instead of “the sniffles”? My 2-year-old cousin gets the sniffles. I want to get nasutus rhagamucosis.

I forgot to report the news.

We played floor hockey in gym on Tuesday. I set my eye on goalie because it’s large periods of inactivity with only a few brief moments of stress. In our first game, we had Mazzerella, who plays like a meth addict with a stick, so I was nice and safe in my quiet goal. But I’m worried. People think I’m good now. When Johansen neared the goal, I did this thing where I slid in front of him trapping the ball between my body and the wall. That probably looked like a cool slide, but it was a complete fluke. That was actually me tripping and landing on my ass, then sliding a couple of feet.

The next half was up against Ian and he takes this game too damn seriously. For at least the fifth time, he penetrated our defense (by pretty much going around them) and took his time with his shot. It was like an old West gun duel. He paused for a couple seconds and fired. My video feed cut out. The next frame is of the top of the inside of the net. My glasses were on my forehead and for some reason my hand was on my eye. I got up and Custable walked over to inspect me. He made me move my hand. His exact words were, I kid you not, “You have beautiful eyes.” Ummm. Okay. He sent me to the nurse to get ice and I walked off the field as a sort of martyr. Actually, I limped. Yeah, apparently, getting hit in the head makes me limp.

No hard feelings on Ian, though. If I persecuted everyone who takes PE too seriously, I wouldn’t be very popular. If I blame anybody, it’s my defense. I mean, come on, guys! Where were you? I came close to an eyepatch back there.

The glasses were okay.