And now look at me. The ever-expanding layer of pudding I'm carrying around under my skin is as soft and flabby as my mental attention. On those rare occasions when life presents something I really have to concentrate on to work out, I remember that I'm smart, and I have a lot of brain that I'm not using. But otherwise i've gone from a shark constantly moving forward, constantly seeking - to a housecat. Give me a sunbeam, pet my head, give me tuna. Otherwise I'll go back to sleep, thanks. I am in a constant state of half-attention; flicking back and forth from email, to browsing the web, to flat-out daydreaming. I have precious few productive minutes in any given day - though of course I do get my job done at work. (and that's more and more work now that we've been cut down so much. But you know what? I might bitch, but I can do it and then some, if only I were sharp.) I guess I liked doing plays because it demanded the same attention as Aikido, as night time patrols, as writing - you've got to give it your full focus, or it shows plainly to everyone present.
Man, is it ever time to get sharp again. I can do it, if I just stop getting distracted by the sunbeams, and the tuna. No time for love, Dr. Jones! Dating has wobbled between disaster and disappointment, without every really being satisfying. Why bother? I've got time to spare, and no more excuses. Time to get sharp; back to the dojo, back to writing, back to the surf, back on the running trail. I was sharp once; and though I've become very dull with disuse like a knife in the drawer, I can hone myself, if only I make the effort.