Warnings:
1. This is what you get when you challenge me to a writing exercise and I think
about it for the first time after ten o'clock at night. My mind is not my own
at that hour.
2. There is less than acceptable language in this very little piece. So
considered yourself fore warned at this juncture.
3. I would highly recommend not allowing me to have a drink of an alcoholic
nature prior to the packing of an overly stuffed suitcase. It seems that
packing and drinking really don't mix...ah, but that is a story for another
time.
* * * * * * * *
Breathe! Damn you, breathe!!
Goddamn ... it! I AM breathing!!
No you're not. That's called wheezing and I noticed some gasping, but I never
saw no breathing being done!
Listen ... you tyrannical bastard ... I'm doing the best ... I can.
You call that your best? My 84-year-old, emphysematic and asthmatic grandmother
breathes better than you (do).
Hey asshole ... you try moving all this ... and then ... you tell me how to
fuckin' breathe!
If you got the strength to whine, then you got the strength to breathe. So just
do it!
If I hear ... that Goddamn phrase ... one more time ... I'm gonna go ... all
postal all over your ass!
Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that one before. Now lift that piece of meat
you call a leg higher.
If you say ... feel the burn ... I'm gonna scream.
Quit your quacking and concentrate on what you're supposed to be doing and God
damn it woman, BREATHE!!
* * * * * * * *
Here it is, the end result of keeping a New Year's resolution, albeit only five
okay seven, years later. This is my imagined dialogue (a.k.a. delusional
psychosis induced by physical trauma to the body) I have with Billy Blanks
every time I work out to my Taebo tape. Actually, I toned down the usage of
profanity so I could at least keep an R rating.
Mr. Blanks, while instructing me to kick, punch, and move varied and assundry
body parts, literally encourages me to "Breathe!" throughout the
course of my work out. It dawns on me the ludicrous nature of such a direction,
yet I follow it as if the gasping I was already doing wasn't good enough.
I will confess a 'love-hate' relationship with Mr. Blanks. I love the weight I
have managed to loose at his persistant urging, but I hate the bastard for
looking as if he is reveling in my misery and sweaty suffering, all the while
making millions of dollars while doing it. And as I sit here now, munching
happily on some delicious dark chocolate, I realize I will once again drag my
sleepy ass from my warm bed tomorrow morning at 5:30, all so I can have sweet,
guiltless intimate moments such as these.
So, while I'm down in my basement tomorrow morning, working off this particular
delicious rendezvous, be aware that I will be doing as I am told by Mr. Blanks.
I will be punching to my right, kicking to my left, and more than anything
else, I will BREATHE!