She sneaks back onto her blog, suddenly drawn to it now that she's admitted defeat and abandoned it.
Funny how that works, isn't it?
I do have something to blog about, luckily. Last night I went to a hockey arena to watch hockey players play a hockey game. I was not anticipating any amount of fun, let me tell you. I have never been a huge aficionado of crowded sports arenas with big sweaty men in jerseys waving their jumbo cokes and greasy buffalo wings around as they shout bits of advice at the players. "PUT IT IN THE NET, THORNTON!" "MAKE THE FRIGGIN' SHOT!"
The only reason I can describe a hockey game so vividly is because I have actually attended one before. One of my mother's "teacher-friends" (She's a first-grade teacher, and apparently all the teachers at the school she works at are real good pals.) had four tickets that she was supposed to sell to a guy through craigslist or something. But then the guy decided he didn't want to go, or something. He just never showed up. She wasn't a hockey fan, but knew that my dad and sister were through my mom, so gave them to us.
This was a couple years ago. I was a young and vulnerable child, at the tender age of eleven, totally unprepared for the wild mayhem of a packed hockey arena. I clung to my father's sleeve as he excitedly maneuvered the family through the fit-to-bust passing areas of the pavilion. During the game, huge screens situated all around the ice rink flashed between bright advertisements and encouragements to "MAKE SOME NOISE!"
Believe me, the audience fully took the screen up on that offer. People shouted and clapped and hollered and belched and stomped and cheered and booed and screamed and applauded and cried out until the entire arena was one big atrium of excited cacophony.
If I were a hockey player, which I will never be, but still, if I were a hockey player, I would not be able to concentrate in the middle of all that obstreperous bedlam.
But then, maybe it's quieter down on the ice, like being in the eye of a hurricane. But I will never know, because I wasn't on the ice. I was one cell in a sea of pandemonium, and it nearly drove me out of my eleven-year-old mind.
I really tried to appreciate the hockey game, but it was difficult when I had no idea what was going on down there. Every once in a while people would start whooping extra-loud for no apparent reason. I always knew when they had scored a goal, because the entire sea always leapt up out of their seats in a grand rollicking wave. Plus, I knew what a goal was, even if I understood no other aspect of the game. I would obediently stand up until the thrill had died and people returned to their seats.
My mom got my dad four tickets for Christmas this year, so we all went again. It was basically the same thing last night, except I am no longer an impressionable child, and I could easily handle the mad turbulence of the arena. I tried to enjoy it, because hockey tickets are expensive, and I knew it was probably the last time I would attend a game. But I think one visit every couple of years is enough of that kind of environment that I will ever require.
Today I woke up with the wisps of a nightmare holding fast in my mind. I wrote everything down as quickly as I could, before the memory made like a winter dove and fluttered away.
It made me think of somebody. I don't know if you read my blog, but if you do, I miss you.
I don't think anybody reads my blog anymore. One of my former readers abandoned her blog, one I never knew in person but seems to have disappeared into thin air, and one is gone from my real life and hasn't left footsteps on my blog-life.
Oh. I just looked at my blog, and somebody checked the "Jeni sucks" box. Not exactly exemplary feedback, but at least that means somebody is still reading this thing.
Don't expect me to keep updating because I've ended my hiatus so briefly. I don't know if this blog dead or alive. Maybe it's a flower seed that just needs some coaxing to bloom; or maybe it was buried too deep under the surface and is destined to ferment until the end of time.