Perhaps it was the Gold Coast. That part of our shoreline has been in the news a bit of late. As you’d expect there was no sign of Michael Voss or any other potential AFL coach for that matter; in fact there was no human life at all. I was all alone and I appeared to be running away from a powerful force.
The tempest in my head was matched by the elements above. How very Shakespearean. Undeterred by the storm and 10-goal head wind I powered on, not daring to look back.
Luckily I was wearing lashings of mascara. You just never know when you’re going to get caught starring in your own nightmare. But it wasn’t such a good move. “If only I’d worn the water-proof stuff”, I cried to the heavens, black streaks running down my cheeks. How very me.
What did all this mean? Was there a deeper meaning to all this or was I just getting into the Olympic spirit? It’s not as though the Australian athletics team is blessed with talent. Perhaps I was making a subliminal late bid for selection. On further analysis I reckon it had more to do with Greg Norman than Beijing.
You see I’d gone to bed thinking about Norman (not in the same way Chris Evert thinks about him). It was more to do with whether he could hold on to his two shot lead going into the final round of the British Open. It all makes perfect sense to me now. I went from Norman to Shark to beach.
Who needs to spend $150 bucks an hour on a psychologist when you can decipher your own dreams?
Now that’s cleared up I may re-evaluate the amount of bergamot oil I burn. I’d put a few extra drops in the burner on Sunday afternoon to compensate for my mood.
It apparently has anti-depressant, anti-spasmodic and sedative properties and by late afternoon I was depressed, spasmodic and in need of a good soothing. (At one point I threw my notepad with such ferocity it came within millimetres of decapitating the other person in the room.) The blurb on the bottle didn’t say anything about Showdown losses so I took matters into my own hands, emptying the entire contents. In hindsight I may have overdosed on citrus smells.
So now we find ourselves out of the eight. There are six games to go and we need to win at least four of them. It’s been a turbulent five weeks but now is not the time to run away from the brewing tempest. Turn around and confront it. It’s there to be tamed.
