Superfly (Ball)

I'm a bitch in the fall -- October, anyway. You might have gotten a sense of that from my last post, but I'm actually deadly serious. The baseball postseason renders me useless, foul, and heinously cold to those who love me. I don't care. I mean, I don't care that I'm like that, and I don't care about you.

I don't know what that says about me. Normally I not only consider myself highly empathetic, I pride myself on that quality. The baseball playoffs send all that sensitive crap out the window. For one month, I don't give a shit. I just want to soak up all the baseball I can before winter arrives and there's no baseball and there's no swimming and I'd rather just hibernate, but no one gives me that fucking choice, now, do they?

I've said as much about the playoffs and about October, here and elsewhere. Andi astutely noted that I can also be useless during the major tennis tournaments but, trust me, it's not the same. I'm kinda sorta out-of-touch during the Grand Slams. Baseball? I'm another person.

I've made that absence plain over the years. Once, my BF told me we were hosting a party during a playoff night. I told him he could either reschedule or understand that I would not talk or mingle or even cook during the game. He didn't reschedule. I didn't acknowledge anyone's presence until the game was over.

Another time, the constant ringing of the phone drove me mad. So I recorded a new message for my voicemail. "Hi, this is Kelly. You didn't really think I'd answer the phone during baseball playoffs? Leave a message and I'll get back to you in November."

So...I don't know if I have a point. But that's how it is.