Random Ramble: #1

For *#@%’s sake...I’m so #$@ damned tired. My right knee feels out-of-sorts. I think I have been posting up on it far too often. My hips are tight. It feels excellent sitting with my legs stretched out in front of me, especially when I press my heels away from me and splay my toes up and back towards me. It feels even better pointing my toes by clenching my arches. I can feel a deep stretch in the top of my feet. My hamstrings are short, taut, and bundled. I try bending forward at my waist, seated with my legs stretched before me and parallel to one another. I contract, hard, somewhere below my belly button and above my ding-a-ling. My hamstrings thank me. I realize I am holding on. There is resistance, tightness behind the knees, definitely in my calves, my buttocks—the old rusty dusty. I’m a bloody mess. My groin is groaning in agony. My neck feels exhausted. My shoulders are definitely slumped...hunched. My lower back hates me. My daughter is cackling annoyingly in the hallway. I want to drop my classes. I enjoy Bio. I’m sucking the fun out of it by obsessing over these grades. Attend to your studies as though grades don’t matter. I will try, futilely so. I have something to prove. What? I don’t know. Statistics, on the other hand, excites me, but only when I understand it. Otherwise, it is a miserable situation. “Maybe, I should wash dishes,” I think. I stand. I head out on the patio. I sit on the dusty cushion seat of the barstool, staring at the Jimbo’s...Naturally! off in the distance. It would be much easier if I were a humble man, a man who didn’t just romanticize simplicity, but truly valued it. Alas, I am vain. I am tethered to appearances. I am lured to the idea of becoming... My DNA is tainted with exceptionalism. There is that part of me that knows just enough (yet not enough) to understand that I’d be wasting my potential scrubbing filthy containers and dishes. Perhaps I should invite this lot in life as an opportunity to hone simplicity, I rationalize. I imagine myself walking ten minutes from home to the grocer. Each day washing the dishes, eating their organic food, and then reading books during my scheduled breaks. There's a dream. Damned books. I need to stop comparing myself to people I admire. That is, the authors. I am a covetous person, particularly when it comes to knowledge. I want to know what he, she, they, and you know. The difficulty is that there is far too much to know. I want to know it all. I can’t settle on just one thing to investigate. I am obsessed with the ubiquity of themes—ideas that recur in or pervade the whole of humanity. I’m in pursuit of truth, goddamnit! A bibliophilic hunter, tracking human reckoning throughout the Serengeti of literature. So I bounce from here to there. I read this, which leads to that, and that which leads to this. I observe the beings and becomers, studying the people who study. I suppose it would be better if I would just settle on one subject and make it my life’s work. That’d be simpler but complicated still! Mastery is no mean feat! It takes a consistent effort to achieve the mastery of something or to realize a goal. Some part of me rails in defiance of discipline; useless Przewalski's (shuh-VAL-skee) horse of an attitude. I feel guilty for not being able to control myself–ashamed, irresponsible, and immature. I am confused. I am irascible and broke. And, lost. Oh, my shoulders, slouching shoulders. It’s time to lie back down—to not judge. Stop thinking! Stop talking! Damn these voices in my head and their incessant quibbling. There is always a caucus causing a ruckus. They can’t agree on anything: “He should [be/do] this! No, THAT! There is no he without we! So, we should... He is here to serve the needs of we. Well, who the hell are we?! Exactly! And what are our needs?! More importantly, what is our purpose?!? Without a purposeful we, there can be no he! Let us define our purpose! But we are too many!” Quibble, quibble, quibble. These voices exhaust me. I am weak right now; a dwarf miniature horse.