I want to play ice hockey.

The thing about this is that I tend to get these crazy ideas in my head every now and then. When this happens, I get very tunnel-vision and spend much of my time running around like a chicken without a head. In some cases, I'll even run around with feathers up my butt, believing i actually am a chicken--note to self: feathers up your butt will not make you a better player.

There are good days and there are bad days.

On my best days, I wake up and my first thought is "hockey. today." And I hit the green lights all the way across town to the rink. And the radio plays all the right songs. And I fly across the ice. I cry because I am so happy, and I believe I can do this.

The bad days come less frequently of late, but when they're there, I'm flat on my back with frustration. It's caused by a strange mixture of fear, nerves and a general feeling of uninspiration. I read Ann and Lori to make me feel better. I listen to "Swan Dive" by Ani DiFranco and "Drive" by Incubus on consant repeat, in hopes that by the time I hit the ice, I will have forgotten about that one little email I'm waiting for, and all the other nagging little hockey-fears that have been accumulating in the back of my brain over the past two to three weeks.

I've found that the ice is usually the best cure for my "bad days". That, despite the struggle, sometimes to even stay afloat, at least I'm going for it this time. At least I'm going boldly. At least I don't care about how much I'm in over my head.

I've got better things to do than survive.