:: Porkchop Serum ::

:: Wednesday, June 29, 2005 ::

oh my god. seriously. its been a while but yesterday i experienced a confluence of odd things for dinner and the Workout of DOOM that fucking destroyed me. I'm wearing my back like a lead carapace or cape. I shrug my shoulders and feel it slap against my rips like a goblin that has me around the neck. detached and horribly sore. from my lats to the small of my back. muscles so fatigued that i woke the next morning expecting to see tire tracks in my sheets. couple that with late night indian food that seems to be lingering in my belly. two of three miniature hindus with pikes, pressing into my gut. i took the day off.. for real. the whole day i spent in bed, existing halfway between odd, confusing dreams and the real pain and discomfort of reality. it was a surreal existance. Racked with fear that i could not complete an imaginary task. One that was ENTIRELY created and had no place in reality yet i lay there in a puddle, my mind racing, scenarios circling and folding in on themselves, repeating and revolving in a massive windstorm of confusion. and then, i finally came out of my stupor to realise that nothing i had been thinking about for the last couple hours had any place in the real world. I had been trapped in a mind-prison. And thank god because i was pretty damned convinced that i couldnt do whatever it was that i was thinking about.

although, i am confident that after going through such a traumatic workout, my back will grow and soon, will not be a weakspot. but damn, son. WTF

:: sandy 9:12 AM [+] ::
...

Glad you liked it. I hope it showed you a valuable lesson: burying yourself in booze to quench your pain or sorrow or anguish will only lead to you crushing your little brother on the front lawn. I know that its been tough lately but i still dont think it's healthy to let yourself get derailed so easily for so long. Not that what has happened is something you shouldnt feel deeply about, just that the solution appears to some a predictable one for you to fall into. One blasphemous, rowdy, tearfilled night perhaps but to break off for a week to look at the bottom of a bottle is excessive. Aside from the minor effect of screwing up your working out, preventing you from working at your job and interacting with people arent worth it in my opinion.

Glad that you're back in it, though. Todays workout would be a good one to start back up on.

Ten rounds for time of:10 Pull-ups, 20 Sit-ups, 30 Squats

Edit (later that day):.... that workout was a killer. took me 55 minutes to finish that bitch. damn dude. Pullups fuckin rock my shit. need to get that back together..

:: sandy 3:30 AM [+] ::
...

Matt studied the clinking cylinder intently.

It's sloshy remnents travelling along in a graceful arc, capturing his attention and holding it like an oncoming bus. Accelerating. Out of control. And then silence.

This brief love affair, intense with passionate focus lept from a dramatic precipice, repleat with foreboading clouds and a judgemental moon illuminating this uncomfortable exchange.

The staring wasnt quite gentlemanly and Matt knew it. At a loss for coherant English, he sneezed from the rain and belched from the OE, almost simultaneously, in a violent eruption that made his nose bleed. He didnt notice.

Nor did he notice the railroad spike sunk deep in his stomach. Sandy and the sledgehammer had long since departed. Two deep footprints were freshly pressed in the lawn down below, though. Andy was busy below, making a plaster cast without much success. He was a troubled child. Filled with irrational ingenuity. The plaster simply diffused in the gathering rainwater. The frustration dam showed signs of breaching..

Matt rose to his feet with blinding speed, silouheted against the field of ashault shingles by a magnificent bolt of lightening that oddly enough struck Sandy dead 4 blocks away from the Wixon household. Unbeknownst to the be-spiked Matt that his assaulter was now sizzling, he broke into a hellacious sprint, determined to avenge his wounding.

Drunk to such a terrific degree, Matt did not notice that he was still perched atop his parents house. Revenge was at hand as he bellowed into the stormy night.

Matt vaulted himself into the air, running and pumping his arms with purpose. Andy looked up, covered in a wet plastery mess, to see his flailing brother approaching with haste.

Softly, without anger, he spoke, " I hate you, Matt"

:: sandy 10:24 AM [+] ::
...