Sunday, March 18, 2007

It is Saturday and, believe it or not, I actually even got to sleep in today. I woke up a 7 am wide awake but I forced myself to lay in bed until 8:30. Why is it when I want to sleep I never have enough time and when I find myself with too much time I want to be active? Ah, cinnamon and gravy!

Friday came and went as a pleasurable day. I dropped Keith off at the train station at around 7:30am. He is going to visit the lovely city of M√ľnchen or Munich to you non-Deutsch speaking peoples. I hope he has a very good trip and brings me back something shiny.

After dropping Keith off, I enjoyed a relaxing morning of listening to the BBC World service, as it is now my only source of information about the outside world that I can understand in detail. I love British people. There is something so inherently awkward about being of British lineage, and by that I mean that being able to make any situation awkward and then go about as if it never happened is something that runs in the blood of all English people. I am a magnet for those kinds of situations.

After working at Kita Hohenseefeld and Petkus, I returned to an afternoon of napping. I had a quick lunch and then slept on my couch while listening to some classical music. I lead a very cutting edge life. I don’t mind it though. How many times have we been stuck at work only to wish that we could be at home napping? More times than I can remember, that is for sure. Going back to a real 45 hour work week will not be pleasant for the first little while.

I do have to say that there is such a thing as not enough work, something that I previously though mythical. Almost like saying that the other day you saw the cutest little dragon – it might get a laugh out of me, but we all know that its pure fantasy.

Sometimes, I find that I need to be doing more work. Most of my jobs consist of playing, and sometimes my job history of ‘constant working’, that being if you stop working its because you have a break or something is wrong, comes back to haunt me.

Just this past Tuesday, I was suddenly hit by a wave of anxiety because I wasn’t really doing anything other than playing soccer with the kids. I then rushed off to the broom closet and started to sweep the sidewalks. This impressed the my German hosts (not being ones to say no to a good sidewalk cleaning) but also confused them when I tried to explain that I felt I wasn’t doing enough. Personally, like all good people, I blame my parents for this condition.

After my nap, I was invited to head along with the youth to go Bowling in Luckenwalde. We are all trying to get our game improved so when the Canadian students that arrive this Thursday come, we can smoke them and in the process impress them as well. I previously held the record of a whopping 144 points in a single game; I was the envy of every high school boy.

It was sadly, not to be my best game ever on that particular night. The times when I become most ‘agitated’ are when I am in a game that I am relatively good at, and I find myself losing to someone else due to shear dumb-luck. This is quite a small occurrence, because there are not a lot of games that I am good at, thus making it all the worse.

My sister Vanessa has a rather uncanny talent for this. When we were kids, and just learning to play bored games, I found that I had a rather good talent for the strategy games, my favourite being Risk. Playing against my family I would slowly conquer the world until it was just within my total grasp. Then, as if the good Lord himself had willed it, my sister would roll double sixes, time after time, until my chances of victory would be totally nulified. I would watch in horror as my strong-holds of Europe, North America, and Africa were punctured and then before long massacred. Soon I was left with only little Australia, alone and soon to be defeated. And she didn’t even like the stupid game.

This time the aggressor was a 15 year old girl by the name of Sascha. She did not bowl so much as toss the ball and in that small time frame of maybe 10 seconds, I was forced to endure the utmost pain. Every time I would watch the ball thud against the ground, serve clearly towards the gutter and then, as if by a powerful mystical force, the ball would turn at the last second and knock all of the pins down. Apparently, it is not uncommon for the Russian teenagers of this area to train in the arts of the Jedi.

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