Conor - Grievances

I scratch and I scratch but the persistent little things on my right palm refuse to leave. Terrible shades of red, brown, black, yellow and green can be found in these scabs, and I'm worried it's infected. It's a small, circular scab in the pit of my right palm, exactly where a scab would place itself if it wanted to be re-opened every single time I caught a frisbee one handed or flexed my right hand at all. Every time I practice piano, every time I ride my bike, every time I play ultimate, it laughs, breaks, and bleeds.

The scab is from last Tuesday when I got hit off my bike by a car. There's a bigger scab on my elbow that's itchy, but all in all I walked away from that incident pretty unscathed. I also have a huge black eye from getting a frisbee directly to my right eye. The disc actually hit my exposed eye, so I'm pretty freaking ecstatic that I merely have a badass looking black eye.

After my concussion last month and several smaller problems, I told my father that "January wasn't my month." "Maybe 2012 isn't your year," he said. Cool. Thanks, Dad.

I'm in Denton, Texas. I'll wake up in 6 hours and go to a bunch of fields and play Ultimate Frisbee for several hours with the University Of Oklahoma Apes Of Wrath. It's my first tournament with the A-Team and I'm pretty excited. I'm a mediocre to sub-par ultimate player, but I just let everyone in this house know that I dominate at Mario Kart Wii. At least when Sean O'Brien and Sunday Robert aren't around.

I don't have much to say. This week has been uneventful, looking forward to the weekend. Life's been stalling, recently. It knows that eventually something will have to happen, but it's very worried it doesn't have enough material to fill it's allotted time slot. Tomorrow and Sunday it has to give me something. We'll see.