It is Sunday morning and I have the brain space to write but I have this alphabet assignment cluttering my mind. I do not like leaving things unfinished even if the assignment was voluntary and I could quit at any point in the process. Who would care? There are no penalties. I’m not getting a grade on this. But, I detest unfinished work. The mental and actual clutter caused by incomplete tasks makes me crazy. And since I make the rules and can do as I wish…I am finishing this alphabet thing today. I don’t want to wait until the 31st. I am hoping to have better, funnier and more profound shit to write about on Wednesday. So here are my final submissions.

U is for unapologetic: I do apologize. I apologize easily. I know when I have done something wrong. I know when I am in error. I even try to apologize for things I didn’t do or that aren’t my fault. But I am learning that there are things that I am just NOT apologizing for. There are those things that either I didn’t do or that truly aren’t mistakes. They may be things other people do not like or may not want to hear…but that doesn’t warrant an apology. I am unapologetic about absolutes like green being green, up being up, fire burning, ice melting, shit happening.

V is for victory: I am not a braggart although writing a blog may seem like a particularly prideful endeavor; I am not an easy victor. I can be overly mindful of the losers, the non-victorious. I am not one for socialism in play or competition, though. Everyone is NOT the same. The true winning teams in Little League should get trophies and titles. The #18 team that sucked should get encouraged but they did NOT do an equivalent job to the No. 1 Team.¬† They shouldn’t get to stand on the podium or even get a little plastic trophy. Children KNOW when they are being defrauded. They know lies. And so victory is victory. Winning is winning. There is no need to go all Charlie Sheen delusional…but a win deserves revelry. And I like to win. But, at this point in life, my biggest opponent is myself. I aim to best myself.

W is for welcoming: I love welcoming people into my home and my life. I like the extra effort to set a fancy table and cook a special meal. I like gatherings in my home where I can spoil and pamper my friends and family. I love the beatitude of welcoming the stranger. It is a practice in faith to open your home, hearth and heart to a stranger. But, within that faithful endeavor is a promise from Above.

X is for ebonics: Phonetically, my initials sound like “X”….”ECS”. I think if I were ever to get a tattoo (and I won’t because I can’t leave furniture in the same place for very long. I would never withstand a permanent tattooing I cannot change or move) but if I were to get a tattoo, I know it would be some variation of the letter “X”.

Y is for asking: I ask Why. Why do you feel that way? Why do you think that? Why did that happen? Why do you want that? Why do cats make me smile. Why do babies smell so awesome? Why does that great baby smell wear off? Why is it so blasted hot? Why isn’t this easier? Why? Why? Why?

Z is for Zarathrustra: And if you know Zarathrustra, if it be person, place or thing, then you know the kind of person I am. You know that depth, substance, the Big Questions, the enormity of life, the intensely pointlessness of life, the existential foray, the scathing mockery and jaded perspective all condense into what is my Joy. Life is for living. Living includes pain and thank God for it. Without pain there is no pleasure…and I likes me some pleasures. I like real food, real butter, real bread. I never, ever, ever, ever, ever will be caught reading the calorie count for a slice of bread. Ever. I loathe faux fakery whether¬† it is boob jobs, lick and stick brick fascia, calorie free, fat free, love free, attachment free….it SUCKS. And not in a good way. If you want to hear my fable, my metaphor for living, here goes (and enjoy it because I loathe sports metaphors, too).

Life, my life, is or should be a football field. But not a well padded, refereed, time clock match. Nope. We’re talking after a hard rain, muddy field, no pads, no rules, full throttle, full contact blood match. You get grass and mud in your teeth, you walk away (if you can walk) bruised and maybe bloodied. Maybe you even get knocked out cold. Doesn’t matter. You’re on the field. When the match ends, you go home, rest, chisel your ass out of bed, take some ibuprofen and a long hot shower and… go back. YOU GO BACK. You take the hits. You celebrate the scores. You cringe and grimace when you lose. But you are on the field. I am okay with being on the bench and rooting for my team. Eventually, I will get back into the play. What I do not want….what I will not abide….or envy….or desire… to be in the gilded Boxed Seats. So…bring it. Let’s go. If there is no point in life, than you better live it right and live it UP. If there is a point to this life and it serves as your resume for Heaven….you better LIVE IT. Remaining sterile and untested is not proof of character or mettle. It might just be that He sends you back for another go around until you get some action. You get put on this field of play because it is the FIELD of PLAY that matters. The players change. The Field stays the same. And whether you show up or not, the play continues.

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