Datebook: Monday, January 22nd ~ 2007
Yesterday, through the kindness of a friend and her Xanex, I was able to watch Compulsories. I am one who gets sleepy from an Advil so I turned to her in the stands and said “are you sure this will work?”
“Trust me’, she consoled, “The only thing that changes is that you will have a heightened sense of emotions, but it will just make you teary, not anxious.”
Teary eyed.
I started crying during the preview trailer from last year’s nationals before the event. When the National anthem came on and the 5000 spectators started singing I began to sob along.
“Are you sure this is better?” I cried to her.
“Yes, you’re just crying, but how do you really feel. Are you sad?”
“No!” I blubbered. “This is a miracle drug.”
This continued to be tested when I dropped my purse and my daughter’s purse, (I was holding for safe-keeping) down the cavernous darkness below our bleachers to a 35 foot landing.) I just waved to them—bye-bye. (Eventually a kind man returned them and I didn’t even wonder about the cell phones and cameras inside that might be in pieces, I just said, “Hey guys, I really missed you!)
The skating began.
Eventually our team came out. Typically after the starting pose, I close my eyes and do “spot peeking”, but today, with the miracle bestowed upon me, I was able to watch. It did get a little blurry when I started crying—there was a point when the light caught the beading on my daughter’s dress, and those tiny crystals, those hundreds of dollars of shiny marvels merged into this beam of brightness that could have been a rainbow, or an aura.
“They’re so beautiful,” I sobbed to the mother of daughter’s partner and the stranger sitting in front of me.
“That was amazing,” she agreed.
Later, I was going to try to work on my CW meets and greets the room mate mission, when I saw a curly blonde head in front of me. Just as I was going to call out to him, another skater came up and congratulated him.
“Great job, Evan!”
I decided I needed a coffee, maybe double expresso, until my visual acuity returned to normal.
And so my courage was restored to me, like the lion in Oz. My friend told me she’d meet me a hour before OD today.
“We’re going to need to take two for the OD,” she said.
“Two? I’ll be crying at the water label”
“This is the OD remember. Mid-line, twizzles…”
“Oh, Right.”
And two it shall be. Dorothy, we aren’t in Kansas anymore. We’re in Spokane.
Mombo
“Trust me’, she consoled, “The only thing that changes is that you will have a heightened sense of emotions, but it will just make you teary, not anxious.”
Teary eyed.
I started crying during the preview trailer from last year’s nationals before the event. When the National anthem came on and the 5000 spectators started singing I began to sob along.
“Are you sure this is better?” I cried to her.
“Yes, you’re just crying, but how do you really feel. Are you sad?”
“No!” I blubbered. “This is a miracle drug.”
This continued to be tested when I dropped my purse and my daughter’s purse, (I was holding for safe-keeping) down the cavernous darkness below our bleachers to a 35 foot landing.) I just waved to them—bye-bye. (Eventually a kind man returned them and I didn’t even wonder about the cell phones and cameras inside that might be in pieces, I just said, “Hey guys, I really missed you!)
The skating began.
Eventually our team came out. Typically after the starting pose, I close my eyes and do “spot peeking”, but today, with the miracle bestowed upon me, I was able to watch. It did get a little blurry when I started crying—there was a point when the light caught the beading on my daughter’s dress, and those tiny crystals, those hundreds of dollars of shiny marvels merged into this beam of brightness that could have been a rainbow, or an aura.
“They’re so beautiful,” I sobbed to the mother of daughter’s partner and the stranger sitting in front of me.
“That was amazing,” she agreed.
Later, I was going to try to work on my CW meets and greets the room mate mission, when I saw a curly blonde head in front of me. Just as I was going to call out to him, another skater came up and congratulated him.
“Great job, Evan!”
I decided I needed a coffee, maybe double expresso, until my visual acuity returned to normal.
And so my courage was restored to me, like the lion in Oz. My friend told me she’d meet me a hour before OD today.
“We’re going to need to take two for the OD,” she said.
“Two? I’ll be crying at the water label”
“This is the OD remember. Mid-line, twizzles…”
“Oh, Right.”
And two it shall be. Dorothy, we aren’t in Kansas anymore. We’re in Spokane.
Mombo
posted by ice-dance.com @ 8:06 AM
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