After The Dust Has Settled...

Whew! I had no idea that making a post about my digital malfunction was going to cause such an uproar with all 16 of my followers. I haven't stirred up this much online controversy since I told a Canadian I didn't like hockey. You may think that I would print a retraction. Nope. I'm not like that.

I will however, issue a formal apology to those who I may have offended or upset with my last post. I can see the miscommunication that occurred with my posting. For the record, the posting of my awkward text message was not to jab and poke at someone else's delicate feelings. It was to point out that I am an absolute moron. I know this. I am now in the club with Nonchalant and Barefoot Bob. I am ten pounds of crap in a five pound bag. Jo is so much better off without me. She is amazing. Incredible. She is smart, beautiful, tough, feisty, and worth so much more. Honestly, I can't figure out why she stuck with me for six months. She deserves a man so much better than a shallow bastard such as myself. I had no intention of upsetting anyone with my self-inflicted technological mishaps. However, I would still like to clear the air and apologize for offending or upsetting anyone with my diatribe. Again, to Jo and all of her anonymous friends, I am truly sorry.

With that being said, my Dad told me a quote from Brigham Young when I was a boy that has helped me in many ways. "He who takes offense when intended is a fool. He who takes offense when not intended is twice the fool." If you don't like what you see on my blog, then here's a solution:

Don't read it.

Now, on to other things. I was driving home last night I thought about what keeps me sane. (Oh and by the way Clan of Jo, you may stop reading now. The rest of this post is just so that I can hear the sound of my own voice.) The last ten days have been themed "gloomy" should I say? Frustrating? Depressing? Half-empty? Those all count as synonyms for the direction of my life. It's not like I don't have my act together, it has just been a thought provoking enigma for the last little while. How have I coped with it? Good question. For some people it's Ben & Jerry's. Others Vicodin. Some people even get on a plane and fly away. Whatever it is, we all have a way of dealing with difficult times in our lives. Mine involves a hardwood floor, a rubber ball, and lots of sweat.

Basketball. Since I was a kid, I have been addicted to this sport as much as a five-year old is to candy. It has been a refuge. A Mecca. A place for me to get away from anything and everything for a good two and a half hours. I first understood this my sophomore year of college when my best friend Niels Hendrickson would go to the Old Gym with me on campus and shoot until the wee hours of the morning. Niels was my therapist as we talked and shot. A three-pointer from the top of the key was as good to me as lying on a leather couch and confessing my troubles to a man with a clipboard. It got me through my seizures. It got me through my Dad's suicide. It got me through my mission. And it will still get me through the rest of my life.

Basketball is my flight away. It's my Vicodin. It's my Ben & Jerry's. It's the crutch that will help me from checking in to Arkham Asylum. It's a 15-foot bank shot from the left wing. It's blocking a point guard's attempted layup into the stands. It's a no-look pass to a cutter in the paint. It's my relief. And we all have something similar to this game that keeps us from losing our sanity. So to that, thank you Dr. Naismith. I am eternally in debt to your peach basket.