wherever you go, keep a record
just when you think you’re better
you really aren’t at all.
Economies of Abandonment, Elizabeth Povinelli (via littleopticalmachine)
In some ways, I’m the last person you’d expect to see in a sports bar—I like to work a good heel, and I’m often told I’m “ladylike.” But every year come March, I find a watering hole and belly up to the bar to watch the NCAA. I’ll drink seltzer—I don’t even like beer—and yell at the screen, “Get in the paint!” I make the same high-pitched hum when the team I don’t want to win is concentrating at the foul line, just like I did in the bleachers of Alfond Arena.
As I watch those lumbering college kids drive the ball up and down the court, I remember sitting on the edge of my seat as Cindy Blodgett brought our state out of hibernation, to its feet. At 12 years old I was gangly, bespectacled and terrified, yet I got the ball up and in—not once, but twice. Even after the hardest winter, spring comes. The NCAA seems to announce it. When I need to negotiate a raise with my boss, or I am deciphering text messages like code, pondering my next move in a romantic pursuit, I envision the court in Deer Isle. The basket isn’t as far away as you think it is. You can do this, I tell myself. You’ve done it before. Pull out your octopus arms, now. Try something you’ve never tried. You’re going to play until you score.”
Ballerina Gets the Ball, Jeanne Hodesh in The Hairpin
neither here nor there