Over Twisted Ankles and Thorns for the Queen

it's really hot out. i was sleeping on my mattress in my new apartment when i got the text. i was glad my new roommate wasn't home because she always tried to lay down next to me when i slept. it was terrible; i could not sleep at all when this particular human being was laying next to me. every strand of dna of my existence fought against me laying down next to her and closing my eyes. the one time i was able to sleep for extended hours, i dreamed i was sleeping next to another girl. the satisfaction of my arms around a warm body was mildly unfulfilled when she was involved.

anyways, my roommate wasn't around so i was able to sleep for about 2 hours, which when coupled with my usual regiment of 5 hours of sleep/night, wasn't a bad ratio of sleep per 24 hours. i woke up with my head all sweaty and my pillow kind of soggy, which is a terrible feeling. Luckily i received a text message from one of my favorite oregonians which dispelled the swampy sleep conditions, advising me to drink plenty of water and arrive at her house by 5 in the p.m. in order to jog a few quarter miles of an uphill incline.

Now, since february, roughly 5 months, i've been making a conscious decision to treat my body better. I am convinced that one's body is his holy temple, his church and house of god. i do make the distinction that a body does not make a person, for i believe that our bodies are mere vessels, transporting and quartering our spiritual beings within. Sometimes we leave them behind. But we owe them for the hard work our DNA and RNA accomplished, not to mention our thrusting fathers and lovely mothers, for creating these handy contraptions which allow me to breathe, feel, and know that i am alive*...So we might as well show our bodies respect, if not for them, then for ourselves. Because we have to live with them.

So I joined a gym in the winter after i shaved my head into a mohawk thinking i was badass when really i was just horribly out of shape from driving across the country and sitting in a car for 2 weeks straight. And after arriving here, i became gradually very poor from lack of employment and surplus of booze and fast food. However, now I feel as though I am making progress in reforming my body into something sacred once again. Thus, I assumed I could jog with a beautiful girl.

It turns out that some beautiful girls are more athletic than you think you ever were. I played hockey for multiple years in my youth and I bet you all the money in my roommates bank account that this woman could give me a run for my money crossing over or doing break outs on ice skates. And when you start running uphill with a beautiful western woman in the rare oregon sun after hiding her car keys so they wouldn't slap against your thighs as you run uphill, you realize that all the water you drank while fantasizing about unrealistic and illogical scenarios suddenly seems too much of a burden to bear.

So as I stomp one heavy foot after another onto inclined pavement and roll my left ankle as sweat pours down my back, and face, and neck--yes, somehow i am so hot my neck is sweating--i can't even continue marveling at her beautious wonder in tight black shorts or her explosive breathing which i pathetically imagine to be sexual because im so pathetically infatuated with her as she humors me and keeps pace until i say "one hand washes the other" which is code for "stop!".

So we stop and i take a piss under high tension power lines, listening to their thriving hum as my urine splashes onto cascading rocks, and my jogging buddy is across the street, and she admits that at red lights while waiting to cross the street she is one of those people who jogs in place until the light is green, and i laugh and admire her strange dedication and allegiance to all this.

One the way back down the hill, she is much faster than me, and i feel like puking all over the place but i hold it back, even though i'm certain that it wouldn't change her thoughts about me but rather i am concerned about the ride home in the hot sun while smelling like puke. We reach the bottom, and she lets me rest while she does and does it again, and i suddenly realize how overcome and overwhelmed i am, so i sit down and breathe slow then stand and stretch and poke at trees. I move further down the road because the air smells like crap, i think there is an open sewer somewhere like in that episode of 'dirty jobs' with mike rowe, and it's a good thing i decided to move because the lovely lady is coming down the hill and she joins me and i am grateful to hear her say, 'let's leave', even though i now feel rejuvenated enough to run up the hill again.

She encourages me to do so, saying that'll she wait at the bottom for me. But what's the point of that? The only reason I came was you. So i decline, and we jump back onto the road, heading back as our clothes absorb our sweat and we talk about urges to swim and urges to touch cold bodies of water until we reach her house and notice that the bums had already stolen the empty bottles i had left outside. Impressed, i go upstairs and gather my belongings, thinking of the significance of trying to catch this beautiful woman running gracefully ahead of me as i struggled not to vomit all over myself and her lovely hair.

Regards, Esortnom