Saturday, August 22, 2009

interweb conversations are less simplistic than i thought they'd be

losing: any signs of an enjoyable life
gaining: modest amounts of money. at least enough to pay the bills.
missing: every single gathering of friends and a lady in asia.


  1. Dear Scott,

    Today I was reminded of something. When I was a gymnast, I was notorious on my team for taking a beating and getting back up. One day of practice, I fell from the rings on every side of my body, and pulled both of my shoulders. As I got back up, my teammate Brad said to me, "Man, you can take some punishment, man. What the hell's wrong with you?" I sat up on that chalky mat and said, "Uh, I don't know."
    So I thought about it, and for the longest time, I didn't understand. I guess I liked the pain, is what I figured.
    So today, I was working out to Born in the USA, and my reps synchronized with the snare. Suddenly, I felt like I was 7 years old, in Tae Kwon Do. I was forced to do 50 push-ups for whatever reason, and after every push-up, my sensei would crack me in the back with a bamboo stick. The moment I pushed up, I was knocked back down. I remember sobbing so much that my tears and sweat pooled on the mat, mixing with the chalk like a dirty lump of half-done concrete. After that, every rep I did felt like another strike, like every string of muscle was a worn cord of bamboo fraying against red skin. I put down the weight, and sat there, this time knowing, but with as little feeling as the first time I'd asked myself the question.
    Once, as I drunkenly stumbled out of a room, probably after rising from a bathtub, I looked your inebriated mug right in your eyes. As I sat here today, blank and staring in the mirror, all I could see was your face. Why that happened is a new question.

  2. I know how you feel.

    We need to start a "we work too much and need to instead work hard to avoid depression and live our lives!" club.