Donald Faison hates Tuesdays. I assume if you’re here you know that a) Donald Faison played Christopher Turk on Scrubs, b) I love Scrubs, and c) I hate Tuesdays. Okay, I don’t exactly assume you know all those things or I wouldn’t have mentioned them. I wouldn’t even be typing anything in this space. I’d just post the picture and be done with it.I suppose a and b don’t need explaining, so I’ll bring you up to speed on the suckiness of Tuesdays.
Mondays are rough because everyone in the world is extra tired on Mondays—but that’s also what makes the day survivable. Monday is a groggy day. The average person doesn’t achieve full consciousness on a Monday until 4:30 in the afternoon. You’re left with some vague recollection of rolling out of bed, eating something, doing something, complaining about something . . . and then it’s over. When Tuesday hits, you’re still tired, but you’re awake for it. The haze is replaced by a headache. The to-do list you ignored Monday has grown longer, and the week doesn’t appear any shorter.
Hence, Tuesdays suck twice as bad as Mondays.
The fact that Donald Faison feels the same way makes me feel like J.D. Don’t make me explain why that’s a big deal.
Best compliment ever? (Also, I like this picture because it’s not black & white, it just looks that way.)
Last Friday I had the chance to read to Addison’s class. I read a few poems from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends and one from Runny Babbit (the flime really tew). It’s a ridiculous amount of fun to go into his classroom and to have kids remember who I am (and to see Addison readily admit that I’m his father). They hang on every word, their eyes light up like bulbs, and they laugh at every funny voice and poetic punch line. They are wonderful children. I could totally be a teacher for 15 minutes every day.
But maybe the best part about it is the thank-you notes they send home with Addison after the day is through. In the past, all the kids have signed a couple of cards, but this time they each wrote individual notes and drew pictures. It did my heart good to read them. One in particular made me smile a little extra wide. I’m sure by now you’ve seen what it said.
The girl who wrote it (I’ll call her C to protect her anonymity) is a twin. The C could easily stand for Cute. Super dooper uper shmooper cute. She always makes a point to thank me for coming and say something adorable. One time it was, “You’re a very nice person.” This time she added, “I really enjoyed it. Please come again!” But the note was the best. I don’t know how kids can form such a glowing perception of someone in such a short amount of time, but it makes me want to live up to it.
The title of this post says all I really need to say. But I almost always say more than that, so here goes.
Thank you for reading. If this is the only post you’ve ever read or started to read, I appreciate the effort it takes to force your eyes over these words I choose and to process the nonsense they represent. I try to make it fun and worthwhile, but you have no guarantees. You entrusted some amount of time and mental energy to me, and I want you to know I don’t take it lightly. I appreciate everyone who makes the questionable decision to read what I write. I respect the people who don’t.
So to those of you who have followed along since the beginning (or since just now) you have my deepest gratitude. And I’m sorry for wasting your time. That’s a flimsy apology, really. I enjoy a little time wasting. I guess I try to get people to stop and look around once in awhile so they don’t miss life. (I think Ferris is a righteous dude.) But I’m still kind of sorry for wasting so much of your time. Even if it’s only been the last couple minutes. There are approximately 36 trillion ways you could have better spent your time than reading this blog about the Cubs.
Honestly, it’s bad enough we follow this team, isn’t it? The Cubs appreciate our allegiance probably in much the same way as I appreciate yours. They’re grateful to have so many fans, I’m sure of it. But they may also feel compelled to apologize for the end product.
That’s how I feel, anyway. I can’t thank you enough for following along. I wish I had done better. I wish the Cubs had done better. But I’m a fool for expecting either.
Self-deprecating realism aside, I’m proud of this blog. I’m happy with how a lot of things turned out. I’ve enjoyed getting to read the thoughts of the people who expressed them here, on twitter, on facebook, and in various places like that alley behind the Addison El station. I’m glad I stuck with it as long as I did. I have made myself laugh a few times and forced myself to think at least twice. I have a pretty good idea a few people have laughed and thought along with me, and it would be an insult to them if I weren’t at least a little proud of that.
And as much as I give Cubs fans a hard time, I admire the poor decision making and dreamy hopefulness that brings anyone to a point of Cub-related fanaticism. I like Cubs fans. I rarely agree with them about everything, but I don’t really agree with anybody about everything. I enjoy disagreeing with people. Disagreement is what drives me to learn. And learning is pretty awesome. I like being around people who are willing to argue with me. But all the same, I’m glad we can agree on our desire to see the Cubs win.
So if you’re a Cubs fan and you’re reading this, I’m doubly indebted to you. I wish I had more time to make you glad to have stumbled upon these words of mine (and to offer you some consolation for the disappointment of loving the Chicago National League ballclub).
Fortunately, I do have more time. While I am sad to be leaving the confines of And Counting, I’m completely excited about ObstructedView.net. I’ll be writing at least as much if not for in the new location, and I can’t tell you how honored I am to be sharing the space with Tim, David, and Jeff, at least not without going into an embarrassing awkwardness I’d rather not breach.
So thank you for reading. I’m sorry this had to happen to you. I hope it happens many more times at Obstructed View.