It’s official. I should be banned from Red Sox games. Thirteen games in a row they beat the Orioles. The fourteenth? Well, I was there. Naturally they lost. Sonsamahbitches! But I did get to see Papi lift one that almost saved the day for the Sox. And El Bencho cranked one into right center that did save the day for the Os. This makes me happy.
I miss El Bencho.
As if the bizarrely entertaining trip into Baltimore to see the boys of summer lose pitifully wasn’t enough of a psychic blow, my adventure down south is about to end. Everything’s all set, now it’s merely a matter of actually transporting my gear north. The entire prospect is highly depressing, but the fact of another relocation to a place I fled and have no interest in returning to is not the really weird bit. The really weird bit is that the likeliest living quarters upon my return are the same delightful lodgings I vacated eight months ago.
Same people, same place, same job, same issues. It’s like a crime film where the bad guy loops the security camera footage so you’re missing the good stuff while the same thing that happened five minutes ago replays endlessly.
God has a plan. Even if it’s only a good belly laugh.