I really don’t like when I am lucid, full of clarity and on target and someone I love or care about is so far out in the left field that words are just as meaningless as a bad pitch in baseball; the batter walks to first base and it is glorified in an underdog way. To hit the ball and it land in the outfield without a doubt means a good run, sometimes third and the best of times a homerun. How do we manage our relationships with outfielder’s and there seemingly purposeless positions. Batter, batter Swing! The crowd cheers and everyone has a home team. What happens when the home team turns sour and distances themselves from the bigger picture? One snores, the other stays up writing and wondering how her major league Love and homerun hitter becomes so distant, callous and seems to just be playing the game for his/her self. I don’t need a homerun, just certainty that I am loved from base to base and cheered on even if I am the one who usually sits in the dug out waiting for a chance to make a grand slam. Baseball is so nostalgic especially on the radio. It makes me long for warm summer nights and a play by play commentator. It makes me feel safe even if I am a terrible player. My all star is asleep and I’m listening to him breathe; I guess tonight is 0-0. I am sad but know he will eventually be on the bench with me. I hate going to sleep with the score unsettled. Morning comes and the sun offers us a new day, one with new intentions, forgiveness and love our as always is anew.