Flushing Meadows

I'm addicted. But at least I'm past the denial stage. Though born as a mere curiosity, my obsession now thrives because I feed it daily. "Just a few more minutes!" and "one last game!" are the most common among numerous justifications to remain planted in front of the TV. Eventually the responsible student inside me builds up enough courage to raise his hand, eager to make a statement. Somewhat annoyed, I oblige, and the mental struggle begins.

I don't know what it is about watching tennis that gives me such a high. I'm usually against TV. Honest. But when ESPN2 has 10 hours daily coverage of a grand slam tournament, it's a sin to not watch. The curiosity begins weeks before the draws are announced. Warm-up tournaments that take place not only give me a sneek peek at who's hot and who's not, but also get me stoked to watch the live drama on the courts in Flushing Meadows, New York. By the time day 1 arrives, I'm already hooked on tennis. I can't stop watching.

My conscience commences its lecture on responsibility and time management, utilizing sound logic and sensible encouragement to guilt-trip me into being more productive. Inevitably, the day's reading assignments creep into the debate and my addiction begins to succumb to reason. I call up item 1 on my mental to-do list and reluctantly reach for the remote. However, like a drowsy infant being carried to its crib, my obsession is suddenly aware of the threat and leaps into action. A swift backhand to the rear of reason and responsibility sends my conscience sprawling out of the picture. I've got to get my fix.


p.s. I'm not much of a "status update" or "twitter" kind of guy, but this is important:
I'm grabbing my favorite blue bowl, filling it with Honey Nut Toasted Oats, and claiming the right side of the couch. Don't bug me for the next couple hours - The Gonzalez vs. Nadal match just started.