Saturday, December 6, 2014
I spent about 8 hours on the lacrosse fields pictured above, a hop and a skip and a jump from the Pacific. In fact, seagulls flew maniacally over the vast expanse of green, a confusing cover for the garbage dump underneath. Good thing there were beautiful young men and women playing lacrosse as a diversion. It occurred to me today, though, how similar lacrosse field time is to hospital time. Now don't go freaking out that I'm comparing the anguish of long hours in a hospital with long hours watching lacrosse games and waiting for lacrosse games to begin. I've done both and am perfectly aware of the difference. But Good Lord, ya'll. I spent a full working day watching lacrosse, folding up my chair when the game was over, walking across the field and unfolding for the next one, watching that, eating some breakfast, folding up and unfolding, chit-chatting with others, visiting the Port-A-Potty, watching more lacrosse, eating lunch, reading magazines, tidying up my tote bag, eating a tangerine, and then more lacrosse. Minutes ticked by in that same way hospital clocks do, and before you know it, you've grown a mustache or a uni-brow and the sun is setting.
We're due tomorrow morning to start at 7:15. If you feel so inclined, come set with me a while.