we jump and run around and sing loudly while we spend our days spinning on softball fields with crooked spray-painted lines. we practice and practice and practice until our arms go numb and our throats scratch hoarsely "five six seven eight."

we loose track of everything else going on in our lives. we miss out on a lot. even planning our own 23rd birthday.


but we don't mind all that much in the long run. it's the short run that's the hard part.