Three a.m., can't sleep, but Lo & Behold, Olympic curling is on TV again.
I've been watching this sport for the last few days, often broadcast at this time of the day - but I don't really understand much about it. Are the time zones in Canada that different from the US, or do the broadcasting powers-that-be decide we'd rather watch men in feathers and spandex skate in prime time than this strange sport with a name only a hairdresser could love? Or is curling something that's best done at 3 am?
Anyway, I turn the sound off at three-fifteen, hoping the intricacies of this game that I don't really relate to will bore me to sleep. But instead, the game and the thoughts in my head become intertwined in a bizarre dreamworld worthy of "Groundhog Day." And like Bill Murray's character in that movie, I'm stuck in time.
Over and over again, I'm a stone on the ice, getting bumped into position by forces beyond my control. Sometimes, I'm scoring a bullseye (it's called a 'tee' in curling, which is a golf term in real life, but who's in charge here?), and there's things like 'weight' that matter a great deal in both worlds. Thank God there's people who support me sweeping my path when they need to, so that makes sense. There's a 'hog line,' which also plagues me in real life. The stones need to be 'in the house,' but they can get knocked out easily...and they may not see it coming - check.
Anyway, I found out when I was researching curling information online, that in 2007 there was a "Women of Curling" nude calendar. That's right, these hot chicks on ice did their own version of calendar girls - Fire on Ice. A friend calls female curling a male fantasy come true, and I see why. They do look intense on the ice...all toned and in shape, and yet this is a sport where you can wear makeup and earrings and get a just a bit sweaty. And yes, sex plays a significant part in both worlds.
So, although I'd really like to know whether the women of Canada in their sleek red and white jackets beat the women of Denmark, in their equally sleek red and black jackets (but Denmarkians wear short black skirts, which really scores in the sexy curling department), I fall asleep somewhere before the match ends. Back to my private bizarro-Groundhog dream world of characters whose stones have long been knocked out of play, and houses made of frozen water.
And now, it's sunny and I awake to Chamalette and the real world that honestly, makes about as much sense some days as an ancient Scottish game of rocks and brooms. Will I get the girl, like Bill Murray does in the end of the movie, or still live the same nightmares? Will today be a day to hurl myself off a cliff, or a day when I get what life's supposed to be about and learn a new skill?
One day's really all there is anymore, and sports metaphors aside, it's a good thing to be a bit round, a bit hard, and to roll and curl through what life throws at you.
