Workday Before Tourney: What The Hell Is The Point?

WHY

I spent the better part of my morning before work figuring out how to attach my bike rack to our “new” car. It has a little, useless spoiler and the cut of the trunk made it a longer operation than I care to admit. Still, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the whole frustrating process.

The night before I assembled a backup mallet and organized my polo bag/travel bag. I put together my reporting gear. I got my pith helmet and walked around in it for a while, just so it’d remember my scent.

And then I slept and dreampt of Alias telling me I won the Tri-Wizard Cup the ref tshirt and that I never had to go back to work again, because I was now a celebrity, somehow.

But then I woke up, put that rack on eventually, and came to work.

And what the hell is the point of that.

I keep thinking about travelling down, my mallets in the back of my car popping up over the seat. I’m thinking about picking my card and meeting my team-mates, how disappointed they’ll be when I explain that I’ve only played once in the last two months and I’m entirely out of shape. I’m thinking about my helmet and my gloves and the water bottle I probably should have cleaned out before packing. God that’s going to be ugly inside.

What I’m not thinking about is work. I can’t. I’m here, I guess, but I’m not here. I didn’t need to take the day off but now I’m really thinking I should have just for the sake of not cheating them out on money. Sure, I keep opening and closing documents over and over, but that will only work so long before someone notices that I’ve got 65 open, blank word files on my desktop. Maybe I should try moving over to excel? People seem to stare at empty excel files for hours while they are actually trying to do work.

The workday before the tourney is the most perfect farce. I’m here and I’m somehow not wearing polo tourney clothes, but that’s about all that’s going on. I’m running through the checklist of things I packed/forgot to pack, imagining hitting the ball, and virtually tasting the cool, refreshing, first-PBR-of-the-season gulp I’ll experience at some point this weekend.

Okay, it’s not so bad. only 7 more hours to go.

 

UGHHHH

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