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[31 May 2004|02:00am]
It's funny. How easily you're replaced.

Emmy's discovered the joys of soccer. She hasn't quite decided which team she likes best. So far, her devotion is rotating by colors. I told her to just choose the home team, but clever girl snapped back that love isn't based on proximity. No, she said, it's based on the colors of one's uniform. Superficial, yes? And so many things are, but she munched on her ham and cheese sandwich, and stared at the tv screen, and started talking about astrology and Ouigi boards and personality tests and perhaps an old American game called Pretty Pretty Princess. I wonder where she learns about these things. She's blase and never tells me--shakes her hand at me like she's fifteen already and yawns out, "My friends, Papa." So it's beyond merely blue looks prettier than orange. It's destiny and physics and American board games.

And prospective husbands. She's found three good ones, two maybes, but has yet to find a "positively absolutely must have" husband. Two new role models. One new hero. I scoffed, poking her sides, because wasn't I her hero? But no. Replaced. "Oh, Papa, I still love you. And you are my hero, but... he's my more hero now!"

You can't argue with logic like that. And she's a fickle girl. Bound to find a new hero in the next few days, bounce around, gravitate to a new one then eventually, I'm certain she'll find herself drawn back to me. Afterall, I have a # 1 Dad t-shirt, hat, and mug. Who can compete with that? Of course, knowing her, she'll be stubborn. Like when she insisted on watching that movie hundreds of time in the row because she was certain it would never get boring. I caught her sleeping and she said it was late, and then later the tape mysteriously got eaten by the VCR. I offered to buy her another copy, but no--I musn't spend the money on her. And yes, she still loved the movie, and no, it never got boring, but she would carry on, silently, tragically suffering with the memory of the movie with her.

She's very dramatic. She could be an actress when she gets older. Or a Stina.
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[27 May 2004|04:14pm]
It was inevitable, really. Right?

Everyone knew. I gave an intervew before I left. I didn't say anything, but I didn't need to. I had said it all before. Months, years. It was only a matter of time. Right?

I came home. Gave more interviews. (We play for two and a half hours and are grilled for 15 hours. I didn't play at all and was interviewed for days) I had a physical. Everyone nodded their heads; they winked at me as I walked by. Of course, of course, of course. Nobody thought otherwise. There was no other choice. Because, really, this was the way things were supposed to end up. Right?

I hadn't even thought about it. I didn't even speak to my pa about it. It was just assumed that afterwards, after the season--no matter when it ended, that I would retrurn home. And stay there.

I never felt more awful, than the day after when they medically cleared me. Because now I was expected to accept their offer. Any offer. Because it wasn't about the money for me. Never about the contract. Because I was coming home. Staying for all the right reasons.

There had been articles about my smile. True enough, I was. Smiling. More than I had all season. Because I was home, and I was with my family, and there is something that home and family can give you that nobody else can. Almost nothing can compete.

But then.

I never thought that I'd be sitting there torn. Of course, I would miss the NHL. My chance at the Cup. Of course. But everything was supposed to outweigh that. Supposed to be blinded by my home town's beaches--the glare off the water, and my daughter's smile. I wouldn't miss what I couldn't see. Fond memories at best, right? No longing. No real burning desire. I mean, this was what I was supposed to do. Sign with Lulea, right?

And yet--

I found myself wishing I wasn't so predictable.
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[22 May 2004|06:14pm]
Private PostCollapse )
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Ahem [06 May 2004|12:32am]
Go, Finland, go.

Even if it is a God forsaken country.
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[04 Feb 2004|05:10pm]
Returned to the ice last night and scored a goal, but we lost.

I'm not sure what my plans are for this All Star break. Too many plans relied on things being a certain way.
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[01 Feb 2004|05:07pm]
Which NHLer will you marry? by BradAusmus11
Full name:
You will marry:Petr Sykora
How many children?22
When will you divorce?September 8, 2067
Why will you divorce?you discover he dresses in drag
Created with quill18's MemeGen 2.0!


That's slightly strange, but Emmy will have lots of brothers and sisters.
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[31 Jan 2004|04:30pm]
It's hard to watch your team without you, but it was just a tweak. I should be back in the lineup soon. Our team's had its share of injuries, as have most teams. Hopefully that means a for a healthy second half.

The time off has been nice though. I usually throw myself into games, and avoid thinking too much. A lifetime of doing that, and it's a hard habit to break. Sometimes it's easier just to take it day by day, and that's always been my motto for the most part, but there are times like this when you do need to think ahead. Because it would be too easy just to keep at it and do the same thing over and over again. There's nothing wrong with being comfortable, and things being nice.

I loved Philly. I felt comfortable there. I knew that arena like the back of my hand. I could skate around it with my eyes closed and nothing but my ears to guide me--listening to the way the ice cut under my skates. And I loved it. I didn't need to be traded to Tampa or skate in that arena to know that I loved Philly. I didn't need something exciting or new, with a sparkly new facility and work out area. I enjoyed the old, worn carpet in the locker room. I'm not sure how to explain it. It wasn't the comfort that made it home, it just was home, and the comfort arose from that. I just felt it, and knew I belonged there.

So this isn't that. This isn't being bored, and it isn't me searching for more or wondering if there's something beyond "nice." Because it is comfortable, and nice, and it's easy and wonderful, and I am happy, but I don't know what it is. I can't explain it. It's like I always took it for granted that I'd be able to understand or figure out what I was feeling or what was going on in my head. And now that I'm stumped it's... it's frustrating. I can't figure it out. I just can't explain why I feel like this.

It's just different.

It's easy enough to say I love my pa or that I love Emmy. There's something fierce about it, and the knowledge that I'd do anything for them. It's inate. It's just there.

And I'm not sure if that's a family thing, or just something I've never experienced with anyone else. Or will? Or have yet to? Perhaps there are just different kinds of love.

I fear... I think about things sometimes. I think about missed chances, hit posts, those mini-instances where maybe if things were different, an inch to the left, that our entire lives could be changed. Completely. And I fear that my choices somehow have a domino effect on others. It's a scary thing. Like the butterfly wings that start a monsoon. Nobody wants to hold somebody else's life in their hands.

Yet, as parents, we do that every day. We do it when we bring life into this world.

I want to be a child. I want to be absolved of responsiblity. I want to be petty and selfish. I want to eat little candies.

And I want to hold my daughter in my arms. And see her grow old, and get married.

I want everything.

I think I could love him forever. I mean, I could be in this relationship forever. And it wouldn't be bad, it wouldn't be great, it would just be. And I wonder if that is what love is. And I wonder if I'm keeping him from something greater. I don't want to be responsible for that.

Ja, I am one of those people. Praise me, thank me, for the good things, but don't blame me for the bad ones. Reminds me somewhat of goalies. If the team is winning they are praised, probably too greatly. And if the team is losing, they are blamed, probably too gravely. We live in a sport of extremes, and before I liked to think that when I left the rink, I left the game, and I wanted a life of grays, and middles, and right down the center of the road. I wanted easy, and moderate, but maybe I'm thinking I was lying to myself.

Perhaps I never left, never leave the game behind. Maybe I want those extremes as desperately as Stina once did. At least, once did with me. The problem though, is that I only want the high ones. I'll take the high ones; you take the low ones. I want love, but not indifference or hate or sadness. Give me wins, but not losses. I don't want to fall. It's too far down. And I'm slightly afraid of heights.
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[13 Jan 2004|09:36pm]
I am noting a distinct pattern in my journal. Last season was marked by losses, and the scrutiny of the media. This year is marked by wins, and compromise, and ... Why is it so much easier to accept the loss, than to accept the win? It's a bit disconcerting the way that--it just seems surreal. A dream, and I'm not quite sure how to react to it all.

I went home to Sweden for a few days and saw Emmy and my family. It was cold and dark, and wonderful.

I came back to an empty apartment, though it is mostly my own doing. There is something satisfying about an empty apartment, though if you ask me on any other day, perhaps I will change my mind and say lonely. It is quiet and dark and cool, and leaves me to my thoughts. Or non-thoughts as it goes, lying on my bed face first and dozing.

There are things I should be dealing with right now, bills I should be paying, sleep I should be sleeping.

I think I will watch some t.v.
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[23 Dec 2003|10:49pm]
We beat the Panthers.

We're number one.

I'm checking my email while packing my bags.

I--

We were supposed to have two days off for Christmas. We were supposed to listen to Pat complain and rant about how we were cheated on time off, and how it was a conspiracy to keep us tired and wear us down.

True to form, he has begun to rant and we are scheduled to play on Friday, but--

I have a plane ticket in my hand.

And this shouldn't be surprising. Because I did talk to Pat earlier in the year, near the beginning of the season. But I hadn't expected... I mean, I should have known, but I had forgotten. Lost in my own thoughts. So for him to call me into his office and tell me that I'd have to be back in January for the Boston game but to enjoy my trip and take care of business back home... it caught me off guard.

And now I'm reading emails and listening to phone messages, and I'm thinking that maybe I can take the cowardly way out and just get on a flight and just let the media explain my absence because I don't want to make that phone call and explain why the plans are called off.

Every Christmas I feel as if I'm disappointing someone. In recent years it's been Emmy, because I've wanted to spend Christmas with her. And this year I suppose it's Janne, but I can't help but feel... Like I'm disappointing myself. Like no matter what I do, I can't win. Like I'm making the worng decision, and this year, more than any other, I feel as if I really am living dual lives that are constantly battling and tearing me down the middle.

I'm going home. And I'm running away. And I'm not running away, and I'm seeing my daughter. It's both.

For once it's unsettling. When I left Phoenix I knew I'd miss the NHL, but it felt right to go home. And I did miss it, and I did yearn to go back, but it never felt wrong. And when I came to Toronto I knew it'd be hard, and I knew I'd miss Emmy and I knew it'd be a struggle, but it was something I needed to do. And it did feel right despite knowing how much I was missing.

But this, everything, feels... I don't know.

I just don't know anymore.

So I'll push it all out of my mind and just concentrate on the next few days in Sweden.

January 1st, when I return, the new year, then I'll deal with it.
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[17 Dec 2003|05:24pm]
At the top of it all. Well, tied.

Darcy isn't much help. I swear, sometimes I think he's as insane as what the media pegs him. Maybe he's a schizophrenic or has multiple personalities. I never know whether I'm going to be listening to family man Darcy or weird mumbling Darcy who talks about love and strange plots and airplane trips. Something about incognito.

I keep thinking about calling Mikael, but I have a feeling that even talking to him won't help. Even then, he'd tell me something cliche and trite, or worse, tell me to do nothing at all. Which is fine, and probably sound advice, but doesn't really help me.

It's kind of like the chicken pox. Everyone can tell you that you'll be better off by leaving the itch alone and not scratching, but that doesn't exactly soothe you or make the itching go away.

*sigh* I've never felt as close to a team, and a group of guys, as I do now. And never felt so confused and like I couldn't talk to them. In Philly there was John and Eric, but even then I suppose I was never pressured into a situation where I felt the need to talk.

I don't think I was ever quite this confused. For once in my life I don't know what I want, and I've never felt this lost. It's... disconcerting to say the least. When I was little it was football and Pele, and wanting to make my papa proud. Then it was hockey and wanting to be the best I could be and play in the NHL. Then it was Stina, and Emmy... and I always had a goal, always knew what I wanted.

I mean, I knew I wanted to come back to the NHL. So I worked hard and I did.

But now... I don't know what I want.
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[15 Dec 2003|01:30am]
I saw this pasted to my locker:

"It's nice to get the goals but sometimes I think we're too focused on who scores the goals and who are the heros," said Renberg. "We have a great team and we feel good about ourselves right now, and with the group of guys we have we're not going to be satisfied."

I keep... thinking.

I don't know what I want anymore. Or where I want to be, other than on the ice. I think that... I will have to think some more.
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[09 Dec 2003|02:03am]
Can you feel it?

That, just... moment right before someone pops a balloon. That anticipation, and everyone is holding their breath until their lungs are bursting, and their shoulders are twitching as they mentally cringe, mentally try to prepare themselves for the inevitable pop.

There's so much build up, and yet... Yet, when it's over, it's just a fast loud noise, and a whoosh of air, and then quiet. A laugh, because how could you have been so silly? Fearing something with all bark and no bite; a loud noise, and then it's over.

Of course, there are the often soggy remains left on the floor for you to clean up. Rubber slick with spit, and the edges are jagged and torn. The red edges are smoooth, though; they can't draw any blood. So it's easy enough to throw away. There's only the memory of what once was. But that's a little harder to get rid of.
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[08 Dec 2003|08:52pm]
I feel like being vindictive and petty.

Why won't you give me an apple, apple man? I said.. GIVE ME AN APPLE!

Fine. I have an orange anyway. And a pear. In fact, this pear has been here for a week. A week before I even had a craving for an apple.

If you don't give me an apple, I'll eat this pear. So... give me an apple now.


Thanks. I'm so glad we've been reduced to five year olds.
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8 [06 Dec 2003|08:37pm]
Eight wins.

Eight rings.

Eight voice mail messages.

Eight beers.

Eight times listening to a voice that I don't want to hear. I don't want to hear the whining, and the pain, and the sadness because it hits too close to home. It's a reflection, and I don't want to hear the things inside my own brain, because... it's grating and annoying, and I don't want to deal. I want quiet, and I want simple, and I want to celebrate my eight fucking wins.

Our.

Our. I meant our.

But.

Maybe I have just had too many beers, and I've heard the word, "me me me me me me" too many times.

I'm tired. I'm bored. I miss you. I need you.

me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me

I can't even find myself in that mess.

I don't want to feel anything anymore. I'm tired. I'm tired. I'm sick of this. I don't know if I can give anymore. I thought that... I always thought that I wasn't the dramatic one. I wasn't the self destructive one. I wasn't the one who kept coming back for more. But now.. I'm not so sure. Because I keep wanting to stay, keep thinking I can fix this.. fix us.

But now I'm not even sure that's possible.
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[03 Dec 2003|08:20pm]
A goal the other day.

And Mikael was sent down today.

I'd like to say right now that I've been talking to Darcy for the last few weeks, but.. I have, but I've been talking to Mikael more. And not because it's convenient and not because I'm looking for something more, but because he's a friend and I've needed someeone to talk to.

Only I find myself listening more than talking. Listening to myself, listening to him, and listening to the silent words he says with his face, and his eyes, and the way he moves.

I want... I want that back. The way he talks about Jean. The way he doesn't talk about Jean. It's... selfish and stupid, and living in the past and being a coward, and all the things I've been complaining about for a month.

I'm a hypocrite.

And?

But that doesn't mean I can't want those very things that I despise so much in others. Because when they want them, my gut tells me that it's all about them, but when I do, it's all about me. Ja, I don't quite get that logic either. But it's not supposed to make sense. It's just how I feel. If it made sense than maybe I'd be able to make sense of the jumbled up mess inside my head.

I'd be able to make a phone call.

I'd be able to say something.

I'd be able to do something, rather than sit here with this bitter taste in my mouth. It's want and it's longing and it's anger and...

I just feel like I deserve more. And it's not because I've done anything special or anything like that. There's no action, no trait--nothing, really--that makes one deserving. Just being alive, and being you, and being me. Isn't that enough? Because I'm me and because I'm human and because I'm alive don't I deserve something more?

Something more than this?

Because I had it once. And I want it back.

I didn't think it was that much to ask for.
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[29 Nov 2003|08:00pm]
Three games in four nights, and I'm so tired, but so... satisfied. There are aches and pains that do disappear when you're riding a winning streak. Everything is falling into place and I know where my linemates are. There's this trust, and just this knowing that comes when you're playing hockey, and you have chemistry, and you're winning.

I wish the rest of my life was like the one on ice. Go figure, huh? I spent so much of my life fighting and struggling on the ice, and sometimes my life off ice reflected that same frustration, but for the most part I was happy. Things were relatively easy, and if there were problems there were easy solutions.

Only now... Darcy says the answer is staring me right in the face. And to tell the truth, it has been for several weeks. But I've been ignoring it. Because it's easy when things are black and white. It's easy to say "1 + 2 = 3" Because it does. But then one and three make four, and so do two and two. So where does that leave me? Because it's so easy to stay, stay where I am, even when things are frustrating and ringing phones grate on my ears. Because things have been like this for so long, and I keep thinking that things will get better or that they'll go back to the way they used to be. And we have so much history. And it's not as if my feelings have gone away. I still love him. It's just... the situation has changed and, and I don't know if I can deal with that.

I need somebody to hear me. Not just listen. To hear me.

And, and...yeah.

I have a pitiful amount of points, and let's not look at my plus/minus. But I'm happy on the ice. It's home again. Owen's breaking out, and Eddie's in good form.

Mikael is riding the pine again, which was to be expected, but it doesn't meant that he has to like it.

Or what's more, that I have to.

But that's another entry that I don't want to write right now.
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[24 Nov 2003|09:21pm]
Our second win in as many nights and I find myself throwing myself into hockey. It's as if I'm hoping that if I focus on only hockey everything else will melt away. It's a simple life, filled with lines and rules. The lines are straight and the rules aren't negotiable.

Or maybe they are, and I'm just fooling myself. Maybe a goal can be waved off if your foot is angled just a certain way and you make a kicking motion, that isn't quite a kicking motion, but is just interpretated that way. Perspective is everything, right? But I didn't mean to kick it like that.. I didn't mean to put my foot right there.. don't matter, and they're just words.

You can sit there forever arguing back and forth, and you need somebody objective, somebody from up above and in some place like Toronto to say, "no goal." Because when you're in the thick of things everything is heightened, and emotions are everything.

I want this headache to go away. I want everything to be about a frozen sheet of water. Throw away politics and economics and a collective bargaining agreement. I need something simple right now.
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[18 Nov 2003|05:51pm]
Perhaps I talk in too many circles and puzzles. I always do that.

Partly because I'm a coward.

And partly to test people. It is something everybody does--you push, and hope for a pull. You push somone away and you wait for them to come running back. Like those clowns filled with sand. You punch them and then they come swinging right back. Little masochists. They're the dramatic, self-destructive types; they make you scratch your head and ask, "Why do you keep coming back? You know you're only going to get hurt."

Though I suppose if you test people in circles, you cloak yourself from any molestation.

So here's the truth. Without any circles or puzzles or stuffed animals:

Why do you only miss me when you're bored? Why do you only miss me when you see other couples flittering about? Why do you only miss me at the most pragmatic of times?

Ostensibly, yes, that is when you are most aware of the things that are gone, of the things that you miss. You don't have work to distract you; absence, that feeling, that emptiness is so much stronger when you're surrounded by what you don't have.

But I want to be missed for me. I want to be missed at stupid, silly times. I want what I give to be enough, because it's all I can give, and even though I want more too, I have to live and deal with this world. I don't have the luxury of living in a fantasy.

I miss Emmy; I want to see her more than I do. But I can't. And it's my choice, my decision. So I'm not going to take it out on her. So I don't understand why it's not the same here.

This relationship is seemingly so one sided. I give and I give and it's never enough, and when I need something. When I'm reaching out it's... it's like I'm not even heard.
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[15 Nov 2003|05:19pm]
Ups and downs, and ups again on this road trip: both personal and professional. A loss one night, and a win the next. A goal here, a goal against there. And for once, I feel as if this roller coaster isn't just going down. My stomach isn't plunging, there isn't any screaming in my head, and my eyes just aren't wide--they're open, and I can see the next rise, and pretty soon the cart I'm sitting in will be climbing. There's still that lack of control, because I am just sitting, and cruising and seeing everything flash by, but it's enjoyable for once.

As all roller coasters should be.

I don't want this ride to end.

Let's try 3 for 3, tonight.
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[09 Nov 2003|10:26pm]
She wants to grow up; she's ready for the world. When I was her age, I never thought beyond the pond out back, or the football field. When I woke up in the morning and looked out as far as I could see, that was everything. And that's all that mattered, and that's all that was important. Her world view is a little bigger than mine considering she watches tv and Stina brings her out to Canada to visit, but...

Something inside of me wants to grab her, wrench her back, and keep her on an island like in the "Truman Show."

I've been spoiled, thinking she'd remain the same forever.

Stina said she was the same when she was a little girl. I blame her.

Stina thinks it's great. I can already see her imagining slumber parties, teaching her how to wear makeup, and talking about boyfriends.

Oh. I have just been informed that Emmy has a "little friend." If I was in Sweden right now I could be telling that little punk to back off. Cute and innocent, my ass. Sure, maybe he's just tugging on her hair now and sharing carrot sticks, but I can tell that little degenerate is trying to corrupt my daughter.

Stina seems to think I'm overreacting. I don't think so. She also seems to think that I'll give myself a coronary before Emmy even starts dating. Probable.

But... if she wants five cookies instead of three for dessert, I can think of ways of sneaking her the extra two rather than having her grow up.
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