Just because I haven’t been writing doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking. And boy, has there ever been time to think. And there has been time to come up with ways to keep from thinking too much. What’s the name of my blog? Right, “A Little Thinking.” And maybe I’ve been writing too much, if you can call it writing.

I’ve been kind of cheating, jotting down thoughts here and there, scrawling out drafts of pieces, pieces of drafts, even letting people read them. By “people,” I mean friends and fellow writers. But mostly friends. What’s up with that, letting people see the product, far from finished? It didn’t used to be that way.

Maybe all of that is the essence of the break. I just don’t feel like polishing and tightening drafts right now. Ever since Mrs. Faircloth returned assignments with “Revise, please” written on them, that triggered something in me never to publish, post, discuss anything with anyone until the drafts are final.

And so sits at least eight posts on their respective back burners. How big is my stove, you ask? Even I don’t know that. But maybe I’ve been insecure and self-conscious, and maybe a little prideful. So now, sometimes, I can share what’s a little (or a lot) rough around the edges. Whatever pushes me to strive for honesty in my writing says it’s okay to do this.

I really appreciated last week’s guest posts. My friends give great insight about their approaches to life. And to writing. Which is about life. One could find definite commonalities in each of the entries; the differences are obvious. For me, they cause me to reflect upon relationships: with other people and my dynamics with them; with things/ideas/sports that I don’t like and reconciling with them; with words and my obsession to get them right and to do my bidding when in fact it is I who ends up submitting to them.

Good reminders, all.

The DVR (Super Maynard) at Becky’s is still broken, even though she now has a free month of HBO and Showtime for the inconvenience. Andrea still probably really hates all other sports but super-hearts trapezing, and the utter delight on her face proves that. And Alicia’s woman, with the tiara, she’s just not ready yet.

At some point, we all have to wait.

The process is seldom easy, and not always pretty.


Anyway, I’m well aware of what’s going on in the world. My good friend Brian, his twitter feed keeps me current.

The Sports Gods Smile Upon Me

by Andrea Boerem, Guest Blogger

I don’t like sports.

There, I said it.

It’s just that I have this genetic defect that prevents me from understanding sports lingo. Also I was born without any hand/eye coordination. Tragic, really. What happens is my eyes sort of glaze over whenever a sport is on TV, and you might think I’m paying attention but actually I’m planning what I’m going to wear tomorrow.

If a ball is thrown at me, I will automatically duck and scream. If I have to throw the ball….well, I still duck and scream.

I’ve tried to like sports. Really, I have. I tried to like them in grade school when my friends Stephanie and Meridth were on soccer teams. I went to their games. I screamed really loud, because I thought that’s what sports fans do, which I guess is true except no one told me that people will also think you’re obnoxious.

Actually I thought I could be a soccer player for like five minutes, until someone kicked the ball at me, and I felt like peeing my pants and crawling under a table except there wasn’t any table because there generally aren’t any tables on soccer fields.

So, I decided I hated sports. Junior High gym class didn’t do too much to help. I mean, jeez! Pull ups? I still have nightmares about hanging from that awful bar, glancing back at the line of girls waiting as I willed my spindly arms to propel my body upwards, something I knew would never happen.

Running the mile was extra bad. I wanted to be a runner, it was just that I hated running. I hated running for two major reasons: first, we always had to run on a day when I had freshly crimped hair, and second, I was slow. So slow! Tiffany Efflund, she always finished in like five minutes, and would exit the track glowing and barely out of breath, whilst I limped around the track muttering to myself that section from the Doctrine and Covenants that talked about people who obey the Word of Wisdom. Yep. That was me, a ninety pound weakling with damp and frizzy hair repeating “run and not be weary, walk and not faint. RUN AND NOT BE WEARY, WALK AND NOT FAINT!! I never did faint, so I guess that’s saying something.

The only thing I was ever good at was the sit n’ reach, and is that really something to brag about? That I could sit on my boney gluteus maximus and push my fingers over a ruled line?

In high school we did step aerobics, and I felt pretty optimistic for about the first five minutes. Kathy Ireland can be pretty motivational, you know? She just sucks you in with her unnaturally bright eyes and super tight leotards. It turns out, however, that I have no coordination. None. Remember, genetic defect?

So, I gave up on liking sports. Not for me, I decided. I’ll just be the girl staring blankly at the TV screen during football games who every so often yells out IT’S ALL ABOUT THE OFFENSIVE LINE, because I know that is true at all times and can be busted out even if I have no idea whatsoever what is actually going on.

Until Monday. Everything changed on Monday. Why, you ask?

Trapeze class.

I went to a trapeze class, and it was magical.

It turns out that the Sports Gods created a sport for underweight weaklings with no affinity for sports lingo! You get to swing!! THERE IS A SPORT WHERE ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS SWING!! I’ve been training for this my whole life! Nobody told me when I began my amateur career at the local swing-set that swinging was a sport!

So, I guess I love sports.

There, I said it.

– Andrea Boerem, 6/25/09