I haven't been in the mood to write about cards. My enthusiasm for the hobby has lessened to the point where I've begun selling off higher-end cards in my collection. I haven't decided where to draw the line yet.
This was not one of the cards I sold. Two weeks ago I looked at Deshaun Watson's 2020 stats and decided to "hold" this until he was inevitably traded to a better team. Now it's too late. This guy appears to be a real POS.
That's the downside of investing in athletes. Sometimes they're gods. Sometimes they're cheaters. Sometimes they're just plain awful people. Another reason to stick with vintage, I guess.
I can't imagine doing what he (allegedly) did. I can imagine being young, and talented, and wealthy, and famous. If I really stretch my imagination I can imagine being good-looking and athletic. But there's no part of my brain that can process being so callous around a woman. Much less a dozen.
One reason I haven't had any enthusiasm for sports or sports cards is the... issue at work. It consumes a lot more of my mental energy than it should. It's not going away, though there was some hope after one of the bosses grew so frustrated with a certain individual that a one-on-one meeting was called. But it lasted too long. No one got fired. In my heart of hearts I didn't want them to. But it would have been easier.
I try to keep up appearances. I try to help when asked. I try to smile and be kind. Only I know what's going on in my head. But I'm sure that my reactions are being noticed. They're not stupid.
She called me to her desk yesterday. She needed me to show her how to do something. I'd actually gone over this with her over a month ago. This is one of the problems the managers have with her - nothing seems to sink in. Perhaps she's overwhelmed or distracted. Perhaps she's ditzy. Either way, I stood next to her desk and showed her how to fill out the form (again). And as she typed what I told her to, I took a second to look at her the way you would look at anyone with whom you're speaking.
That face... those freckles... I just can't.
She needed to print out the form. I returned to my desk, and when she walked by to pick up the form off the printer she thanked me again. She tapped her fingernails on my desk, as she'd done once before.
Is this a thing she does? Is this... a signal? I felt like she was reaching for me. And I wanted to reach for her. Like a scene in a movie when the guy and the girl hold hands for a split second longer than they should. But they know -- and the audience knows -- that they can't do anything more.
Simply thinking this - wanting this - made me feel awful. This whole thing started because I didn't want other guys to make her feel uncomfortable at the office. I can't be the one to flirt with her. I can't.
There was a guy in our office who was wired differently than me. He had a girlfriend and eventually proposed to her. That didn't stop him from flirting hard with one girl in the office. He'd sit on her desk, call her "baby", rub her shoulders. She was cool with it. That was just their thing. One day I heard him talking about his co-worker to other guys in the office in a tone that indicated tortured feelings for her.
I can't do any of that. I can write it out, vent to my best friend, and tell my wife that I suddenly need a new job right now. There's an opening at our rival company. It's pretty much a lateral move but there are benefits. Literally, they offer health benefits and we don't. That shall be my excuse.
My best bro warned me that there might be a similar situation in another office. "There's always a damn...[her name]" he said. Perhaps. But I haven't had this feeling since college.
I sat there at my desk, watching the clock. The bosses had left for the weekend. The feeling of wanting to touch her hand reverberated in my mind, shaking me to my core. I was distracted beyond the point of losing myself in my work, or my music. The room was too quiet. I had to get out, but it was too early to leave. Why do these thoughts have to be in my head and these feelings in my heart? I can't do this. I'm...
And so I went up front for the last ten minutes of the day. "Do you need something?" She asked. Why yes, I need to clear my conscience. We talked about our kids. She didn't know I had any. We'd never discussed anything personal. She asked if I wanted any more. I said no. I asked her the same question. She said she did, but that she wasn't with her baby's father anymore (I knew this) and it all depends on what happens in her life. "Well, you're young." I said. "You've still got plenty of time."
She's a year older than Deshaun Watson.
I'm a year younger than Drew Brees.
I'm sure there's some truth to the allegations against Deshaun, and I'm sure that some of it is exaggerated or fabricated. No idea how his career will play out from here but I'd be shocked if he got Kaepernick'ed over this.
All I know is that I could never imagine being a cheater, or a creep, or even a flirt.
Thanks for reading.