Just another ho-hum week

Hello again and welcome back to another installment.  It has been a fairly quiet week or thereabouts since I last checked in.  We played an up and down series on the road in Bowie followed by another up and down series against Harrisburg, but managed a 5-4 record on a road trip featuring nine games in five days.  Obviously we would prefer to have been a bit more consistent in our play and taken another game from Bowie, thus winning both series, but with a six game lead on second place and eight on a playoff spot a winning road trip in any fashion is at the least an acceptable outcome.  What stings a little more was losing a three game series to second place Reading at home, but we’ll have an opportunity to pick up some quality wins on our upcoming three day road trip to Erie before getting a brief reprieve over the all-star break.  My individual performance has, in a fashion representative of my overall performance this season, been a bit of a mixed bag.  I threw 3.2 innings across three appearances and while I have finally begun producing strikeouts in a manner more consistent with my typical performance,  I have still been too streaky throwing strikes and consequently I have not been overly efficient.

 

Off the field there hasn’t really been a lot to report.  I’ve had a pretty quiet week with my most notable accomplishments of note being the finishing of a number of the books that have been queuing on my bookshelf during the season.  Other than that I haven’t done much other than finally getting around to stretching a painting I bought earlier in the season and decided that (in a continuation of my previous art-related rant) I would try my hand at making some “art” of my own just to prove to myself how fairly ridiculous some of that stuff is.  However, since I really have no desire to display said terrible “art” I am currently at a bit of a loss for what to do with it.  eBay maybe?  Anyway, I’ll check back in after the all-star break and let you know what sort of hijinks I get into on my off days.  Until then, I will revive my habit of leaving you with a poem.

 

Another Time by W. H. Auden

 

For us like any other fugitive,

Like the numberless flowers that cannot number

And all the beasts that need not remember,

It is today in which we live.

 

So many try to say Not Now,

So many have forgotten how

To say I Am, and would be

Lost, if they could, in history.

 

Bowing, for instance, with such old-world grace

To a proper flag in a proper place,

Muttering like ancients as they stump upstairs

Of Mine and His or Ours and Theirs.

 

Just as if time were what they used to will

When it was gifted with possession still,

Just as if they were wrong

In no more wishing to belong.

 

No wonder then so many die of grief,

So many are so lonely as they die;

No one has yet believed or liked a lie,

Another time has other lives to live.

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