On giving up

Many of you know I've been trying to win a certain contest for one (or all) of my little schools back home. I spent weeks recruiting friends and family to register and vote for my schools, and in many cases, I logged in on behalf of all these people on a daily basis. The key to winning this sucker is voting every day, and I knew no one would be as on top of it as I would. So I took matters into my own hands. Is this allowed? Probably not. Is it for a good cause? Absolutely.

The problem is that I'm going up against schools all across the country, schools who are getting hundreds if not thousands of votes every day. I can't compete with my mere dozens. A few weeks ago I had the numbers 12, 13, and 14 schools (you only have to be in the top ten to win), but I could not move up any further with my small army, and I began moving steadily down the rankings. The second problem is I was spending an hour a day either voting on behalf of other people or recruiting additional voters. And quite honestly, there are better things I should be doing. Like reading all the Lebron articles people have forwarded to me. So as much as I wanted to win one for the loggers, I had to give up the dream. I couldn't win it by myself. Which, incidentally, is just what Lebron said.

On another slightly similar note, there's an old yellow house across from my office. It's a landmark, and I actually think it used to be a church or a school. People who have lived here for decades remember playing in the house (it was abandoned even back then) as kids, and it's honestly my favorite thing about the street where I work. And the street where I work is really pretty. The house reminds me of something my aunt L an uncle D would buy and fix up. And not just because they have an old, yellow house themselves.

At any rate, I was worried when I saw some heavy machinery outside of the house last week. Um...get away from there please. But they stayed. And when I rounded the bend the next morning, a small part of me died. The house had been knocked down. Totally torn into a million wood pieces. Call it a shame, a tragedy, or even no big deal if you're not sentimental in the ways that I am, but that house was about as charming a thing as you'll ever see. I guess at some point you have to let go of things that are crumbling around you, things that are hopeless. Do I sound like a Clevelander yet?

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