[m i a o w] the cat

So I learnt two names last night. Mark Schwarzer and John Aloisi. The only sport I ever watch on television are occasional important netball matches, the AFL Grand Final and soccer. Now and again. Last night I became a soccer tragic. It was sooooo exciting! I missed seeing the goal, but saw all of the penalty shoot out. God. It was truly excellent. The whole place just erupted. If you missed it, you might like to check it out here.

Anyway, it was just the beginning of good things. I woke up this morning, having had a horrifying dream that my hair was white peroxide blonde with five inch trailer trash roots (dream interpretation, anyone?) and felt that my black dog had just started running away. No more angst for me at the moment. I even broke a three month (probably longer) drought and called up M’s mother to say hello. It had been eating at me Every. Single. Day.

But as the gap grew bigger, the less able I was to call. Of course, she could have called me, but when someone’s 84-years-old and says ‘…but I haven’t heard from you for so long…’ in piteous tones, it’s hard to say ‘Well you could have called me?’ But I did anyway.

Soccer made me happy. Who knew?!