Odds and Ends

Tonight is the third night in a row that I've played hockey. My gear is simply not drying between games. It's developing a smell that is repugnant on an intellectual level. The smell is a blend of extremely sweet and spicy mexican. Neither of these smells are particularly bad in and of themselves. But when this mixture assaults you just after the sound of a hockey bag unzipping, and sight of soggy shoulder pads being lifted out, some part of the brain tells you, "Great Fuck! That smell should not follow the sound of a hockey bag unzipping and the sight of soggy shoulder pads being lifted out!" 

It's my hypothesis that one's own stink is more repulsive to others than it is to one's self, and I find my own stink pretty repulsive. Indeed, when I open my hockey bag, I instinctively move my head so as to avoid the smell, as if the diffusion of extremely sweet and spicy mexican is somehow constrained to certain volumes of space around the bag. It doesn't work. I have another game tomorrow night and I feel truly sorry for my teammates. 

An old girlfriend wrote me. I had not spoken with this person in nearly eight years, and then two days ago my inbox had an e-mail whose subject was my name followed by a question mark. The emotions were complicated. We didn't part on the best of terms, but after years (like five) I realized that I had a place in my heart for this person and that I truly wanted her to do well and be happy. She sounds like she is doing well, and I'm glad. Most interesting is the collision of the memories of overwhelming emotions and the inescapable fact neither of us are remotely the same as we were when we were together. 

Roger Daltrey has a song 'After the fire' and the lyric that always catches me is "After the fire, the fire still burns. The heart grows older, but never, ever learns." It sounds so romantic -- love never dies! But it does because, ultimately, the love that Daltrey is singing about isn't really love but infatuation. One of the most depressing parts of getting older is recognizing infatuation for what it is. It is such a lovely illusion, and the world seems flatter and duller without it. 

The only things in this life that I regret are the times I didn't treat people as I feel like I should have. At times this ex-girlfriend treated me quite shabbily, but that doesn't balance out the times I didn't treat her with respect. The dream I have is that everyone -- ex-girl friends, former bosses, the guy I cut off in traffic the other day -- can meet in a place where love can occur unhindered by all our needs and insecurities. Certain religious texts say that there is no end, only endless cycles, but this idea of a place where love reigns supreme really would be the end.