Buck Stevens, eat your heart out.
Wow, it's late, and I'm feelin' zany. I also get the feeling no one will read this, yet I am compelled to post it to the web wound awound ze wowld. It occurs to me at this particular juncture that I haven't given myself more than four hours any night in a week, yet I have not yet begun to hallucinate--perhaps this is indicative of some superhuman greatness in me. Could my inner viking be awakening? I certainly hope not. Anyway, I'm not going to get even ten damn minutes of sleep tonight, so hopefully I'll get to see some trees cross the road on my drive home or something.
In other news, my injuries from Judo continue to mount: Last night I got pile-driven into the floor--that's right, head first--while simultaneously being head butted by someone who weighs about twice as much as I. One relatively minor concussion later, I learned to thank those lucky stars I saw circling my head because, despite the high probability of such a thing occurring, I broke neither my jaw nor any teeth, and I didn't even bite my tongue off! How cool is that!
For some reason, though, when I relate the details of my various contusions, concussions, and cartilage tears, everyone wonders why I keep going back to the class. Am I some sort of glutton for punishment? Is this some sort of Fight Club-style masculine orgy of violence for me? Have I simply been dropped on my head a few too many times? I think not. Really, relative to the injuries I've sustained in the pursuance of other sports, these are not so bad. And I have to admit that there is something exiting about brushing so close to potentially serious injuries and coming off relatively unscathed but not necessarily unscarred. If nothing else, it makes my life more interesting, thereby giving me an excuse to cater to my egocentrism and chase my friends about telling them all the gory details. I am a one-guy coliseum. Sweet.
Most significantly, though, having slight aches and pains on a daily basis, I find, really makes me pay attention to every moment of my life. Surely there are other ways in which one might avoid simply drifting through the moments of existence that are all too few and will never come again, but sometimes, I think, there is nothing like a good pinch to wake you up when you've fallen asleep at the wheel.
Or maybe I'm just a dumbass.
In other news, my injuries from Judo continue to mount: Last night I got pile-driven into the floor--that's right, head first--while simultaneously being head butted by someone who weighs about twice as much as I. One relatively minor concussion later, I learned to thank those lucky stars I saw circling my head because, despite the high probability of such a thing occurring, I broke neither my jaw nor any teeth, and I didn't even bite my tongue off! How cool is that!
For some reason, though, when I relate the details of my various contusions, concussions, and cartilage tears, everyone wonders why I keep going back to the class. Am I some sort of glutton for punishment? Is this some sort of Fight Club-style masculine orgy of violence for me? Have I simply been dropped on my head a few too many times? I think not. Really, relative to the injuries I've sustained in the pursuance of other sports, these are not so bad. And I have to admit that there is something exiting about brushing so close to potentially serious injuries and coming off relatively unscathed but not necessarily unscarred. If nothing else, it makes my life more interesting, thereby giving me an excuse to cater to my egocentrism and chase my friends about telling them all the gory details. I am a one-guy coliseum. Sweet.
Most significantly, though, having slight aches and pains on a daily basis, I find, really makes me pay attention to every moment of my life. Surely there are other ways in which one might avoid simply drifting through the moments of existence that are all too few and will never come again, but sometimes, I think, there is nothing like a good pinch to wake you up when you've fallen asleep at the wheel.
Or maybe I'm just a dumbass.