I should be…

In bed. With the covers up to my ears. I don’t feel so great, but yet I’m sitting at my computer, trying to piece together today’s ridiculous crossword, wading through useless e-mails, listening to the re-broadcast of the Italy/Canada men’s hockey game from earlier today, all the while reprimanding myself for not being in bed right now. But I’m right beside my bed. Doesn’t that count for something?

I have come to the conclusion that I am incapable of relaxing. I can’t do it. I can’t sit still. I can’t have silence. I can’t meditate. Hell, I can’t even read a paragraph out of a People magazine without my thoughts wandering somewhere else in between Britney Spears exposés.

And what am I going to do about it? What I always do. I will stew about it, make a concerted effort to do better, and yet, go back to my old familiar pattern. That’s just the way I am. Moving on…

The weekend with Mom, Jeff (my BROTHER) and Jessica (his GIRLFRIEND) was splendid. Splendid. I never use that word… Anyways, we had a great time. The sun was out all weekend (a rarity in this part of the world as of late), we kept ourselves busy the entire weekend and ended up running out of time. We didn’t get to Gastown, Chinatown, the Capilano Suspension Bridge, Science World, BC Place, GM Place, Canada Place and many other places. And then there was Grouse Mountain…

I hate heights. I hate gondolas/trams/SkyRides – you get the picture. Going straight up a mountain on a little tram that sways when you hit the towers was not fun. Not in the least. Scariest 12 minutes of the year so far. And then there was the ski instructor that my family and I befriended on the way down. Once again, I was scared. Very scared. I couldn’t look up. I stared straight down at the floor of the tram, terrified that if I looked, the tram would fall. He laughed at me the whole way down. Too bad he wasn’t cuter and too bad he wasn’t much more than 19 years old, otherwise, I might not have been alone on Valentine’s Day for the 23rd year in a row (now that’s a record I challenge anyone to beat). But that was my weekend. It was terrific. I can’t wait until the next time the Hamm family ventures out west, because next time we’re heading for the Island.

On to other pressing matters. The Olympics. We’ve got to win 18 more medals in the next 10 days or so, otherwise, my medal count will be a little off. So will the COC’s. And we’re screwed going into 2010. But, as Scott Feschuk says in this week’s Maclean’s: “there’s a bright side if Canada’s medal haul is modest. With our athletes enduring distresssing defeats with great frequency on international TV (see: Perdita Felicien), we would as a nation be more likely to obtain sympathy sex from kind-hearted foreigners.” I thought it was funny…

But what is it with Canadian athletes? It’s as if there’s some complex ingrained into our head that we’re not good enough. We can’t do it. We can’t take the pressure. I understand. I’ve been there. Well, not in the Olypmics, but I understand the pressure to perform. The biggest enemy is always yourself. Your own negative pattern of thoughts, which are often your own inner beliefs coming to the surface. It sucks. It’s awful. But it’s also Canadian. We are a self-deprecating country. We make fun of ourselves all the time for being the “little guy” in world affairs. The underdog. But can’t the underdog be the top dog sometimes? Not all the time (that would be the American way), but some of the time. Like in hockey. Why can’t we carry our “we are the best” attitude into other sports? We should be winning medal after medal in speed skating. Only 2 so far. We should have great skiers – we’ve got two provinces full of mountains. But one medal. People say it’s money (the COC), some say it’s our programs (see: Australian mogul gold medallist Dale Begg-Smith who’s actually Canadian). But I think it’s attitude. We have it in hockey. But not in anything else…

The Dave Emerson affair continues on out here. I’m amazed at how upset people are. Well, it’s still only a fraction of people that care, but it’s better than no one. Nothing’s going to happen. Nothing’s going to change. That’s the Canadian way.

Well, it’s 9:25 and I’m nowhere near the end of my crossword puzzle, I’m done going through my e-mails, the Italy/Canada game is over and I’m still wishing I were in bed. Maybe I should head that way. Or not…

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