Pretty much everybody who saw any of the royal wedding coverage has seen the picture at right – a tiny bridesmaid on the verge of a meltdown on the balcony of Buckingham Palace. I feel like her today, but not due to crowds and attention and noise. No, it’s my beloved Washington Capitals who make me want to cover my ears, screw up my face, and have a good cry. If you gave me a list of ways the Caps season could end, I’m pretty sure I would not have picked “swept by the Lightning in the second round.” Oof. Even typing it hurts.
There’s a lot to read about this post-season, and tons to deconstruct, but I am just not ready yet. I’m planning to take a little break* – probably until after some team that isn’t the Caps hoists the Stanley Cup – before I catch up on everything and decide if I can ever pull my feelings away from staggering disappointment. I also know I can’t cope with the venom that’s undoubtedly out there right now. I’ve had weeks where I suck at my job, and having to deal with an Internet full of haters would make me want to crawl into a hole and die, so – bummed as I am – I have no interest in finding catharsis that way. The players are just people, after all, and no doubt already feel worse about their bad week than the fans ever will.
So. Expect no hockey talk here (or in person) for a while. The regular silliness will continue as per usual, however.
* From everything but Twitter, mostly because I am too lazy to go through the process of unfollowing and then re-following about a hundred folks.