Pickup in hell, #46341

Hot dude.

1.  Thank you for talking to me. It is so fucking lonely out there on the ice being the only chick sometimes. You are nice.  You are uber sweet. Thanks for making it feel social and like a game.

2.  Hahahahahah, you flirt.  What are you, like 20?  ROFL. ❤

3.  BUT I WILL TAKE YOUR PUCK ONE DAY RED BARON! I WILL I DON’T CARE HOW FAST YOU COME SPEEDING INTO MY ZONE…

*

I would like… to do what S said and not take this so seriously.

I would like… to shut my brain off and not spent half my time on the ice anticipating fucking up and the other half beating myself up for fucking up when it inevitably happens.

I would like… to just play.

To just play in some unfettered, joyous way that I do in fact feel about this game, somewhere down deep in my soul and bones.

I come off the ice on the verge of tears which of course I choke down because, it’s hockey.  And all strangers, all guys. And hockey.

I keep coming back, even though I put myself through this shit every week, once a week, sometimes more. I keep coming back because some better instinct drives me to put my skates on the ice and open up all the speed and paltry skill I have and try again, try again

try again

despite everything. Despite not seeing progress, a lot of the time, or even the point.

It’s love, for sure. Unconditional love.

And maybe the definition of faith.

2 thoughts on “Pickup in hell, #46341

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