“Just take this ball to a full service gas station and have it inflated,” the physical therapist said. He handed me a flattened hunk of rubber that he means to have me use as a computer chair. What century is this guy living in, I wonder. A full service gas station? I’ll bet he thinks bicycle pumps still come with one of those little needle gizmos on the end that was used to insert air in a football or basketball. Part of his idea is great: I do need to change my posture at the computer. Part of his idea is pure crap: full service gas is as dead as dial phones.

That’s the way thinking is. Parts of it are revised periodically and reflect the current state of events. Parts of it are stuck in some legacy mode that hasn’t changed since before the Beatles came over from Europe, or maybe since one cave man viewed another cave man he didn’t know as a source of danger. This mish-mash of ideas accounts for . . .

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “ball.”

Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

2 thoughts on “Ball”

  1. The soccer ball was coming at me. Right at me. Oh, boy, was I ready. I was in a pissy mood that day and ready to do some damage. Someone had really ticked me off, and I wanted revenge. This was no soccer ball coming toward me. Nossir. This was the HEAD of that nasty so-and-so and I was going to give ‘im what was coming to ‘im. It was going to feel so basic, so bestial, so good.


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