So I keep fondling this heavy chess piece I just happen to carry with me all the time. This is real, right? He's really going to step out on to a tennis court in front of people, wearing tennis clothes, and swinging a tennis racquet? I'm not making this up?
Because I keep thinking this might all be a dream. Like, let's say a level 2 dream. Stick with me here and think about it: Of course I would have him coming back to a tournament in Southeast Asia and the people populating my dream would be other Asians. Let's even extend this out. I would not put it past my subconscious to construct a dreamworld wherein Sam shows up to a presser dressed as a lumberjack, JJ is a samurai, Rafa joins in on some Buddhist chants on a beach, and Masha spins around for no reason.
THESE ARE THINGS I WOULD TOTALLY PUT IN MY DREAMS.
I mean, Sam's eating a tiny-ass crab. HOW FUCKING SURREAL IS THAT???
So seriously, I don't know what to believe. I have no idea when I'm going to kick out of this. Or maybe I don't want to kick out of it. Maybe this is my happy place. Maybe it's ok that I stay in this all-too-perfect dream world and continue to live in ignorant bliss ignoring the harsh complications of the real world, floating amidst the clear blue sk-- What? Who? She...aw, bummer.
Ok, nevermind. After an impressive qualifying run, Robbie lost in the first round of Tokyo to Greta Arn. So this is real life, where every good thing that happens to me has to be accompanied by a horse kick to the face.