I’m trying to get over losing in the semi-finals three weeks ago. I thought I had. I thought I didn’t care. But now I realize that I do care, and that it’s bothering me. Yes, Joyce, my opponent, was a very good player. She was undefeated for the season. Whenever anyone heard (and everyone seems to have heard) that I lost to Joyce, they all said, “Oh, she’s a very good player.” Someone said that to me at the supermarket.

There were other external conditions that contributed to my defeat, like that fact that she was left-handed and was able to neutralize my inside-out forehand that fades to the ad side. And it was incredibly humid and I put suntan lotion on someone else's back and thereafter couldn’t keep my racquet in my grip. I didn’t play very horribly. I had my serve. Still, I’m pissed I didn’t step it up and win. For the first four games I was in a fog. And for the last four games, also. The courts were in the middle of fields of dandelions and their fuzz blew across us with a kind of Feminine Product effect and I drifted off as well. Now I’m pissed about it. I’m so pissed I think about doing things like taking lessons and training. Running, and eating right. Ha ha ha ha ha.

2-6, 2-6. It’s depressing.

Anyway, did I report back on the team party? It was very nice. I received pink socks as a parting gift from my captains. Thank you. I wrote notes on pictures of the captains that were then framed. My notes were banal, unfortunately. Or fortunately. Because if they’re not banal, they’re inappropriate. The person who was going to bring sangria was told not to, because they made peach punch instead. I had a glass of it. I was careful to eat snackies, so I wouldn’t get drunk and start free-associating or overeating.

Or anything. Lately I've been wondering how I would know that I was no longer free. Because, with an eye to the neighbors, I control my own behavior so effectively.

Maybe I'm overstating things.