Ghosts

Walking home, my iPod shuffles onto ‘Memory’ by Elaine Page, reaching into the dark, dusty backwoods of the ten years worth of c*ap on this thing. On the dark country lane, under the flickering street lamps, with my mood the way it is, it seems appropriate. Ten year’s worth of shit on this thing, and it chooses this, at this point? Who says there isn’t fate or spirits playing with the world for a giggle?

My head, I suppose, is too full of ghosts… Too many ghosts.

It’s been a bad shoot. A score of 69 in 30 arrows… That is nowhere near good. It’s three steps backwards from where I was last week…

One hour earlier…

Today I do not feel like a 2nd class Archer.
Perhaps it is because I’m too peed off with the world.
Yesterday some t***er, a total stranger, just walking past, called me ugly.

I keep getting kicked by the world, again and again, over and over…

I am James…
I am archer…
La barricade traverssez le rue entre le restaurant et l’hotel de ville…

My first shots are bad, with a double A. They get a little better, but they’re still not good. At one point I get an X, a really good triple shot totalling 21… I need more of those…

My usual mental tricks don’t help.

I am James…
I am archer…
Les revolutionaires ils dans l’hotel de ville…
Ils a prenent l’edifice…

As I’m walking home, ‘Memory’ playing on iPod, I feel so much like s**t, so full of old ghosts, that I feel like I am losing my sport.

I feel like I’ll never be good enough.

But no matter what, I think, once I’m curled up under my covers, we must always go on. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen, no matter how many old ghosts swirl around our head.

A competition comes up a couple of days later.
I volunteer.