I should be banned from the kitchen. This afternoon, my mom called and asked me to put the meatloaf in the oven (she was with my sister who had four screws taken out of her jaw this afternoon). So, of course I preheated the oven, put the meatloaf in, set the timer, and walked away. Probably to watch TV (which I've been doing way to much of, by the way). I came upstairs half an hour later to check on the meatloaf only to find the oven was cold and the meatloaf colder still. Seriously, Grebner? Do I not know how to operate an oven? I swear I'm a capable adult who cooks for herself every night. Just yesterday, I made some pretty impressive (if I do say so myself) roasted almonds. Apparently, I'm getting a little too cocky.
I miss playing basketball. A lot. I've gone to two games at my high school this past week and now I find myself with a longing to hit the hardwood again. There's no place that feels more like home to me than that 84' x 50' rectangle court. I miss the feel of the leather ball in my hands (and sleeping with it at night). The high fives and the hugs. The turn around jumpers and the offensive rebounds. I miss the bruises and the blood -- badges of honor that we wore proudly to class the next day (or maybe even to the Homecoming dance). The aching feeling in your side when you felt like giving up, but you push through anyway. Pain is weakness leaving the body, that's what we always said. I miss the plays I still know by heart. Saying a prayer during the National Anthem. Having the number 32 on my back and Lady Raiders across my chest. My coaches. My teammates. We became a family. I miss living my life on a scoreboard for 32 minutes every night. On the court, with a ball in my hand, I controlled my own destiny. The rest of the world seemed to fade away...
