Blood, Cockroaches, Edward Cullen, and Spaghetti

Last night I celebrated my parents' birthdays at my grandparents house. My cousins and I were skipping between Pride & Predjudice and the Winter Olympics in Vancouver. We were cheering for the USA (because it's the greatest), Italy (because they like spaghetti), Finland (because it's my favorite place in the world), Ireland (because they drink beer, have red hair, and like leprachauns, or so I've heard), Poland (I really don't know why), and France. Actually, I was the only one cheering for France. For some reason, everyone I know dislikes the French, while I think they are simply amazing, like Edward Cullen or something equally as dreamy and mystifying.
During the speed-skating event, my cousin started screaming over a dead cockroach behind her chair, so we all turned to look and comment on how demonic-looking his squished little head was.
When I turned back to the TV, I saw a large, dark pool of blood against the ice, and in it sat a man in a blue suit. My own dear country's man had gone down. His skate blade cut the artery in his thigh and he was being lifted onto a cot.
There, right in front of me.
Live.
It didn't seem real.
Life is like that, I think. Things seem to be going so slowly sometimes. All you do is look away and forget about what's happening right in front of you. You focus on a diversion and ignore what's really important. There was a guy being ripped open and I was staring at a dead cockroach. When the diversion is gone and you look back to what's important, you always miss something. Something big happened but you let it pass by because you were too caught up with other, minor things.
Anyway, I hope someone gives that team USA athlete a box of chocolate.
Happy Valentines Day.

Your Sister in Christ,
Melissa