Wednesday, 4 February 2009

This, as far as I can tell, is not a letter to the French.

Matt and I have been bloggy buddies for quite a while now, for such a while in fact that when we first became acquainted we both had different blogs at different blog spots. Oh, look how far we've come.

I think far too few of you have had the chance to read such fabulous writing as his, so when I had the chance to dole out my share of Collective Guest Post the first person I thought of was Matt. Because despite the fact that he now spends his days encouraging me to run, and I spend mine encouraging him to drink, one thing remains constant: He punches people in the face like it's nobody's business.


Let's be frank: I don't like people. Picking only five to punch in the face? That sounds hard. I've never been much for rules, and as much as I love you, I'd rather cheat. So instead of five people, you get five groups of people. The more black eyes the better, right? And because really, I rather like breaking rules.

First, over-friendly / familiar service workers: you do your job and get my coffee or food or whatever it is you're serving; I'll do my job and give you money. Any interaction beyond that is unnecessary. Even if you're cute. Maybe especially if you're cute. Really, I'd rather like to some day be a damn good mountain man recluse, and most days I prefer to practice. On the other days I'm either intoxicated or wishing I was, so I'm pretty sure that doesn't count. Or, if it does, it shouldn't. Diminished capacities and all.

Second, jackass students: at least pretend to take your education seriously; just once in a while, humor me. I understand you have no hope of ever graduating, or you'd rather be high, or are high, or whatever reason for your shenanigans – but most of your classmates really do want to get their credit, and really do want to graduate, and you're being a dick. Maybe you haven't noticed, but no one appreciates it. If i didn't know it would cost me my teaching license (and the only job my worthless degree qualifies me for), I would have already punched you, and encourage your peers to do the same. Peace and patience have their limits, and you push them every day. Instead I laugh, because it's the only way I know to keep from cussing you out, and ask you to 'try it again tomorrow.'

Third, all you weekend warriors who take yourself so goddamn seriously: have you ever done any of this because you enjoyed it? Ever run without all the proper gear, without checking your splits, without figuring out how many calories you burned? Ever run without a training program, without consulting your Runner's World or the letsrun forums? Ever stop talking about that damned 'runner's high?' (Hint: if you're really running, it doesn't exist. Running hurts.) Even if you did qualify for Boston or win your local 5k, whoopee flying fuck. No one cares. How about admitting you suck, your life is completely unbalanced, and the only reason you do any of this is because it helps you ignore how much you loathe yourself (and with good reason). Everyone else is already thinking it. Having had my ass handed to me a few weeks ago in a DI meet, I have to admit, sucking isn't so bad once you learn to embrace it.

Fourth, conservative religious folks: have you ever imagined what your dream world would look like? God, how boring. Also, don't you ever get sick of telling people how to live their lives? And seriously, since you're the only ones going to heaven, why haven't you just figured out how to all drink the Kool-Aid and get to your heaven a little sooner, and let us have earth, alright? Just keep shoving your bullshit beliefs down my throat, please. I'd love nothing more than to give you a black eye.

Fifth, anyone who's ever tried to tell me how to take care of myself: don't. Don't tell me I drink too much or sleep too little or run too much or eat too little, or that it's too cold to be outside or too humid, or that I cuss too much, or... you know what, eff you. So you're an expert on living until you're ninety and you're responsible and mature and make good choices and all that. Congratulations. I'm not, and I don't, and surprise! I prefer it that way. I prefer my fuck-ups and misadventures. They're interesting and entertaining and eventually they usually make me laugh, whether I actually remember them or not.

Of course, looking back at the five, I could have just said previous incarnations of myself. Damn.

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