Painful

So Jimmy is going through this thing where he wants to play rugby. He is an "old" "man" (more on that probably never) and this is a bad idea in many ways but he is obsessed with the game. He watches it a lot on TV, obviously international games, both men's and women's leagues. He even got season tickets to the local professional rugby league, which is over an hour's drive from our house. I went with him once. It was ok. He went a few times on his own. But there are a couple of rec-leagues in the area and he has been contemplating joining one. I actually understand his desire and I support whatever decision he makes. I thought he'd decided against it. I was slightly relieved because I don't want him to get injured. I was also slightly sad because I know how much he wants to play. In the last week or so he's started saying things like "when I play rugby..." I mostly ignored it but this morning I tried to have a conversation with him about it. Almost impossible! I say, talk to me! This is why I am here. For you to mull things over with. I guess this concept is pretty alien to Jimmy. He is so in his own head that the idea of sharing thoughts is alien. Same goes for sharing feelings. So he will play if he can test his stamina, test his knee. He's going to start running (haha) and in cleats (no!). He thinks he has plenty of time before the league starts up in the Spring. Sure. No. Whatever! 

Then he decided to tell me a story about something else. Someone liking one of his posts on BlueSky (he is a twitter fatalist). And it was so hard to follow. He has no sense of narrative structure, But he is very helpful with the daily NYT crossword. Yes, we had some cross words! Ramble on. 

Grateful for: someone to talk to.