I learned how to play chess at the Cabin from my Dad. Let me tell you this, Pastor John taught but never gave up a game. If you got a win, you earned it. Playing games at the Cabin is one of the top memories I have of my childhood. Cards; Sorry; Hearts; Candyland; Chess, and who knows what else. If we could have a winner and a loser and a couple of us just balance in between, it was a good night.

We still play games, not as much as we should. SkipBo; Uno, and crapout are among our favorites. We have a new board game we played with Mr. and Mrs. Wildman called “Last Word” which was really hard but Victoria kept screaming “Penis” which made us laugh hysterically (I’m sure the wine and beer that was flowing had nothing to do with that.) OH! They also taught us a dice game called Ship, Captain, Crew which is really fun and requires not so much thinking soooooo, perfect for us.

I love games. They reflect family time and laughter and jovial competition (ya right) in our home life.

But I don’t love all games. Like, those that others play to pit people against people; those that bring drama into our lives; those that are unfuckingnecessary to any normal adult’s life. Ya know, games that 75% of the population enjoy playing with each other. Especially online.

I don’t know. See, I’ve had real drama in my life. Real, “we’re pretty hungry so go outside and ask strangers for food”; “we’re taking you away from your mother, go have a nice life anyway”; “we’re in a situation where you can’t talk about it to others because dad might lose his job, but we can talk about it all we want” kind of drama. Real shit. Fucked up shit. Shit that had I been asked if I wanted to go through I would have passed. But no one asked me, so I walked through those fires and lived to be strong and blessed and thankful. So suck it universe, you and I live to battle another day.

When people want to create drama and pull me in, I’m usually ready for it and will call bullshit at the starting line. But not always. Sometimes people catch me when I’ve been up since 5a.m. and worked at a Master’s National track meet all day; after driving two hours and getting lost and having my phone break in the process; working in the hot sun carrying a 98# and 200# implement back and forth in a sand pit. And THEN having to drive home and sing Broadway tunes to myself to try to stay awake.

Sometimes, there is a perfect storm such as the above and people catch me unaware. Unaware that for them, made up drama is fun. Made up drama is how they entertain themselves. Made up drama that, when my defenses are down, pull me into their bullshit and get me all elevated thinking that they are straight shooters.

This…is one of those days.

I got played. I got elevated. I got pulled in. Gawdsdammit. I’m supposed to be smarter than this. I’m supposed to be more level headed than this (bwahahhaaaa, that was funniest ever.)  I got pissed. Like, totally and completely pissed. I was told someone said that I said something disparaging about another person that was such complete bullshit that I saw red. Who in their right mind would try to talk shit about me? Not because I’m anything special or going to come and challenge you to a rumble (do they still have those?) but because I will grab both parties and lay the cards out on the table (clubs are trump) and suddenly one or both of the little high school girls or boys trying to stir shit up will understand I don’t play these kinds of games (show up at my door with a double pack of Uno and a couple bottles of a nice Red and I’ll play for hours though. Kthxbye) and go away.

Anyway. I failed. That’s on me. I let myself get played and I’m embarrassed. I’m pissed at myself that I so easily let someone walk into MY computer and start spouting off shit that so clearly wasn’t true. They got me.

Well played.

I guess that’s fun for people. Me? Not so much. So much not fun, in fact, that the walls are back up and in the event that I’m low on sleep; gone all day helping others; tired as shit driving home (again) and vulnerable for others to lay down their crap and start tossing tennis balls back and forth on my emotions that I’ll just shut out the world for a day or two (easier to do when your phone is fucked. The hubs is trying to unfuck it, at this point I don’t even care.)

So here’s the deal, if you want to come at me bro with your shit, fok off. I’m tired. And I’m old. And care not one flying fuck what drama you need in life to feel important. I’m just a girl living in Wisconsin with a little gym and a family and some good throws and some good lifts and some amazing friends and have absolutely no impact on you whatsoever. You’re off my radar. Not because YOU’RE not important, you’re just not important to me.

I love you.

People who count.