You know that feeling that you used to get as a little kid during the last week of school, the one that made it impossible to do anything? All you could do is look at the clock and watch it slowly tick, tick, tick away. It was like Chinese water torture watching the second hand take it's leisurely stroll. Damn you clock.
Well, that feeling has come back. These past two days at work have been particularly excruciating. I can't focus. I can't write. I can't sit still. All I want is for Friday to come. And it's all because of the World Cup. I have pretty much scoured every single web-site written in English that even briefly mentions soccer. Not to mention I frequent Mexican newspaper's websites about as much as anyone in the country. It has gotten so bad, that I even looked up Italian newspapers and their web-sites, scavenged through them looking for any reference to the Mexico vs. Italy game. Mind you, I speak Italian about as well as my pen does, which is to say not at all. I have this unsatisfiable thirst for information but no matter how much I take in, my need is never quenched. And it won't be unttil Friday at 9:30 A.M. Not until the first ball is kicked will this restless monster inside of me lie down.
Yet, as it is only Tuesday right now, an eternity stands between sanity and myself. Worst of all, this anxiousness has turned from an excited anticipation, like a child on Christmas Eve, to a nervous anxiety, like an inmate on death row. I'm scared senseless. I have no faith in my teams. Every flaw or appearance of a flaw is magnified in my mind until it becomes a gaping hole. What if Mexico's goalie Conejo Perez forgets how to jump and gets goal after goal scored on him? What if Gooch and Jozy don't recover and our front and back lines fall apart? What if Mexico lays an egg against South Africa and becomes the laughingstock of the world? What if England spanks the U.S. and declares it a colony once again?
Ok, I don't really think a U.S. loss would send us back to pre-revolutionary times, but you get the picture. It's bad. I am an optimist in every other aspect of life, always seeing the light shining out of every black hole, but when it comes to the World Cup it is expect misery and hope it doesn't last long.
Alas, I really am not a psycopath. I swear. Once the games begin I will be back to normal. I just can't stand the wait. As I have yet to invent a time machine, I will have to suck it up and go into my padded room. Youtube videos full of cheery memories, here I come.
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