Sorted out.
written: 7:10 p.m. on Tuesday, Apr. 20, 2010

So it is what it is. All I can say is that I'm going to take it one day at a time and hopefully not die too soon. There is a certain degree of fear and trepidation in my heart but I suppose the difference this time round is that I know, roughly, what I'm getting myself into.

SIGH. I miss university, more so than ever.

*

And that's it, pretty much. Going for tennis in a bit - yet another luxury I'd no longer have in a month's time.

Lalala.

*

ETA at 11.20 p.m.:

Tennis made me SO miserable. For some reason that remains unknown to me, my tennis has reached a new level of suck recently. And it's especially bad because I know I can play better; I keep telling myself in my head to play better; I also keep telling myself in my head that it's all in the mind; but I just can't.

I couldn't today, couldn't on Saturday, couldn't the last time I played with Ben (last week?). Just freaking couldn't. Again, I felt out of sorts, I felt uncomfortable (it wasn't just the extremely clingy Nike polo that I don't wear much and now I remember why I don't wear it much), I felt like I didn't know what to do with my beloved racquet, I felt like it was the first time I'd ever hit a ball. NUS Wall Guy commented midway, "You seem distracted."

Tennis is a happy sport. I generally play well when there's nothing weighing on my mind. But lately I've been preoccupied with this career thing, this no more life thing, and maybe I'm subconsciously detaching myself from tennis, so that I wouldn't miss it so much when it's gone.

That said, I'm still going to play every Saturday morning. I just won't be able to play weekday nights. Apart from how I'd effectively have two hours of exercise a week, which is quite pathetic, I'm hoping that NUS Wall Guy wasn't just trying to make me feel better when he said that it's like cycling - you'll pick it up again even after a long time away from it.

The muscle memory thing may be true, but actually, tennis is far from being akin to cycling. I can cycle with my eyes closed; I can't hit a proper, decently-good forehand even if I focused all my attention and energy on it. That was what it felt like today. Less than 5 balls hit the sweet spot. I don't even want to talk about the backhand.

I don't know how to handle balls that land after the service line. I'm not fast enough to back pedal to a comfortable position to hit it properly. It gets worse on the backhand side. Still can't serve properly. Can't slice, can't even volley without freaking out.

This is rather demoralising. Of course, it can be said that it's just tennis...and while it is just tennis, it's really not. I need to be good at the things I love. I love tennis. Ergo, I need to be good at it. Ergo, my current level of play is making me very upset.

I honestly can't even begin to say. It was just so bad. And I wasn't even tired, so I didn't have that as an excuse as I do every Saturday morning. I just want to see my effort pay off, to translate what I can see in my head to what I can do with my body. I know how to swing it right, but when the ball comes hurtling at me I somehow forget everything.

I'm gonna stop writing this now. It's really making me fucking depressed. And I want to read Margaret Atwood's The Blind Assassin before I sleep.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010