anotherlongshot (anotherlongshot) wrote,

The opposite of happiness.

I can't help but feel miserable every week, especially when it's Sunday night and I'm doing work.

I can't properly put into words how much I hate this job, how little I care about the things that I have to do, how I absolutely dread going back to work after every weekend. The year 2010 is officially and irrevocably destroyed by, first, pupillage; and second, everything that has come post-pupillage.

I know the reasons for doing this. But I'm not convinced by them anymore. I think I should have stuck with what I've always known, instead of trying to convince myself to take on a burden with which I was never comfortable. It shows in the quality, or lack thereof, of the things that I produce at work; it shows in the degree to which my indifference knows no bounds; and it shows in how I'm still mentally switched off, intellectually disengaged.

I kept thinking it couldn't get any worse; but week by week, it just keeps getting worse. And worse. And worse, still.


And so I think about happy things to take my mind off the one dominant miserable thing in my life. Even though Roger lost yesterday to Clownfils, tennis is still my happy pill (of course, I suspect I would've been much happier today if Roger had won; such things make shitty things like fucking work on a weekend way more palatable than they really are).

I played tennis at SICC yesterday afternoon with a partner from the firm and his friend. I was slightly worried (okay, I was very scared) before the session about my proficiency at the sport, if any; I didn't want to look stupid in front of people that I barely knew. I always feel nervous when I play with someone new for the first time.

On about Thursday, Partner told me that he wasn't very good. After I described briefly the things that I could do with a tennis racquet and a tennis ball and the things that I couldn't do, he said that I was probably around the same level as his friend.

Well, I discovered on the court yesterday that he lied about being not very good. He told me that he could barely hit the ball over the net. He totally lied. He hit his passing shots with so much force and power that I practically feared for my life when I was at the net. I did tell him that I couldn't volley, which is true (though I managed to fluke out one random forehand volley), so he really did not have to hit the ball so hard.

But anyway, I felt pretty happy after that. I was really worried that I wouldn't be good enough because I'm proud like that, but it turned out I didn't fare too poorly against Partner. I was really pleased with this amazing forehand approach shot that I hit really deep which he couldn't return. And it also turned out that his friend had just started playing again, so she was at the level that I was at about a year ago.

She played with a single-handed backhand though, which is incredible. I actually want to try that, just for kicks, and because it looks so good on Roger. But it doesn't really look that great on a female; a two-handed backhand looks better a girls, while a one-handed one looks better on guys. I honestly think that guys look pretty gay when they play the backhand with two hands, which means 90% of the pros look gay. Er, haha.

I do need to sort out my backhand though. My kill shot has completely died. Everytime I tried to do my favourite shot - flat backhand cross-court - I smacked the ball into the net. In fact, I haven't made that shot in a very, VERY long time. Even when I'm standing mid-court, I can't get it right. It's really annoying. It's harder for me to hit flat shots off the forehand wing (I think it's because I'm only using one hand; it's easier, for me at least, to hit flat when I have both hands on the racquet) which leaves me with the backhand with which to have fun. But that's not working out too well for me nowadays. I don't know why.

I really want to hire a coach. I won't be happy if I stayed at my current level forever, even if, strictly speaking, I'm only playing for fun. I just want to be good at this because I like it and it's important to me, somehow.

I guess my life only starts after my faux life, i.e. what I'm leading now, comes to an end. Fuck.


Soderling won the first set 6-1. I hope Clownfils loses ASAP. I'd love to hear the pin-drop silence in the stadium when that happens.

Fucking Parisian crowd.
Tags: angst, paris masters, playing tennis, robin soderling, tennis, work

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