Had a proper breakfast at the farm instead of eating out of the lunch kit, and apparently sitting down with warm food makes a difference. Who knew. My hands were cold from walking across the yard and I kept them round the mug while Mom put another perogy on my plate without asking. The shoulder was behaving, no reaching overhead, no bag dragging on it, just the occasional click when I turned for the butter. After eating I felt heavy in a good way, not gassed, more like I could sit there for another half hour and listen to Dad complain about the weather. Then one of my brothers asked for help outside. Retirement over.

The team wanted somebody else taking the last shot and I said sure, good call, then spent the rest of the night being an absolute pain about it. She scored. We won. I was happy we won and still pissed off that nobody had even looked at me, which is a fairly impressive way to ruin your own evening. Our goalie asked if I was all right and I told her to stop doing therapy in the dressing room. She'd only asked a normal question. I bought the scorer a drink afterwards because she earned it, not because I'd suddenly become gracious. Still reckon I would have put it in. Apparently that also needed writing down.

Bud, my boyfriend, asked why I keep saying my truck is fine if I spend every drive listing what I'd change on it. Different questions. It starts, it carries my gear, but in my head I've already moved everything into some future vehicle with my business name on the side. That's a lot to ask of a truck I haven't bought and a business I haven't started. Trying to work out what actually needs sorting now, before I turn looking at ads into another competitive sport. Dad will tell me to keep the thing until it dies. I can hear the whole conversation already, including him calling the cracked windshield 'not ideal' as if it's a diplomatic incident.