Alright, well I've taken a day off of this already, which speaks to my dedication to this thing. heh. Anyway, yesterday, Saturday, was a day of... well a typical saturday for me around here. I sat around a lot, listened to a lot of music, watched some spike, and wound up getting convinced by my girlfriend to make her a shirt. Well... not so much convinced as; she mentioned it to me and I was instantly getting my clothes on to go to the store and grab the materials. I've always loved graphic design, and while I'm not nearly as good at is as I wish I was, I have enough skills to make her happy, and to occupy a lazy Saturday.So that (and the rest of the shirt which isnt really worth showing as its text) occupied a good six hours or so of my saturday.
Now Sunday is what I live for. Sunday is the day you wake up at six, no matter how hung over you are, get your gear together - which you should have, and actually promised yourself you would do the night before- and open that front door squinting from the sunrise, the air is slightly chilled with that first breath as you shove your hands into your pockets to make sure you've got the essentials. You slide the handle of your gearbag out and roll your way to your car. You wind up having to cram your bag into your back seat along with everything else you have to your name since you live out of it, and its off to the field. Pulling up while there's still only maybe one other car at the field, throwing your ipod into your ears as you gear up and watch the sunrinse, knowing that no matter what happens, no matter if your voice is lost from screaming, if your covered in paint and blood, if your gear is smashed, and if you've got not not a cent to your name, none of that matters. NONE of that matters. I'd like to quote Matty Marshall. "Its a Sick and Perverse thing, We know. But its what we're good at; Shooting People for a Living; Playing paintball. Yeah thats right. Paintball. And the real world thinks this is lame - or crazy - or fun - or a waste of time? They dont understand what we do or how hard it is. Even the wives, the girlfriends, family, friends...They dont understand the battle. Our battle. For glory. For money. For the people you believe in. But mostly for respect. And for this fight that nobody gives a SHIT about... We've traveled hundreds of thousands of miles... to hundreds of towns... shot thousands of times...slept on floors in train stations. Bounced rent checks. Because we're good at this. Because its hard. And Humbleing. Because some days, you really can be a hero to your friends. And if your boys, and my boys ever meet on a field in a gun fight...We WILL fuck you up."
Not many people can understand, or care to understand, why someone would spend their weekends going paycheck to paycheck to play what they consider a game. Something to pass time, to do as a frat party, or with their redneck cousin in the woods behind his farmhouse. This is what keeps me sane. The constant mind-melting monotony of my job would quickly absorb me if it werent for my paintball family and my girlfriend. Shes never really had to put up with my paintball life, but I dont imagine she'd have much trouble since she puts up with my Marine Corps life pretty effectively.
As for life on that front, She had her last day on the job working at Culver's in my home town, and actually is still on the last part of her six hour+ shift. I'm about tired of listening to myself type so I'm gonna sign off for now.