Sympathy For The Devil.

I am feeling a little down right now; kinda like a deflated football which has been left in a cupboard for a while, only for the family dog to start pawing around with it, then create a piercing hole which seeps the air out in a few minutes of hilarious air noise. No, I am not in need of a puncture repair kit and a few rubber stickers to patch me up, I am simply being overly dramatic - something I have always been quite talented at. I can make the average appear incredible, while conversely render the incredible as average. The trick is a mixture of a strong frame, and a reaction of the action in a way which either downplays or oversells the target... In another life, I am a very successful used car salesman.

Anyway, enough bullshit. So, the reason I am writing this is to try to understand the pointless nature of self-pity. More so, why we tend to indulge in the mental construct in the first place. You see I am feeling a little down today, as it is the first time in almost a year in which I am am having to indulge in my great love of thrice weekly gym training, all by my lonesome. For the last 12 months I have been regularly hitting the weights and cardio with my girlfriend - the joys of dating a Personal Trainer being the mutual love of intense working out, the miseries being an association with too many people who can train every muscle but their brain, but not all of them - some were and are pretty cool.

She has joined Virgin Active, and I remain at Fitness First. Therefore our routines are now separate. For reasons that make absolutely no sense to me, it reminds me of The Dudley Boys being split by the WWE draft back in 2001 (Oh how only a few people have any idea what this means), even though Marissa is not a fat, bald New Yorker, and I am not an even fatter, black dude in thick rimmed glasses.
It is not the training alone, or spending less time together which has gotten me down today. I trained for almost 5 consistent years alone, before we even met. And nothing changes in our relationship. It is simply that I never truly appreciated how much god damn fun it was to hit the gym together! I love to talk, I could talk for England, and never run out of things to say. Now, at the gym, when I think up a funny comment or stupid idea (And the gym provides many), who do I voice it to? I cannot talk to the walls like a madman, they probably wouldn't listen anyway. It is a little lonelier, and feels like my right arm is missing at the gym, (Which if true, would probably turn me into the world champion of one arm push-ups). But I will adapt pretty fast. Adaptability is key to a successful and ambitious life. I am a leaf blowing in the wind - not some dumb arse tree standing still watching the same crappy view its entire life.

Maybe it is the cold weather, the piss rain, the fact that I feel my short story could have been better... I don't know. In the grand scheme of things, it is small potatoes. It is not like I have lost a job, had a bill I cannot pay delivered to me, a child of mine (I don't have any yet), is ill at the hospital, or I have discovered a lump on my body. By all accounts, I am a pretty lucky barstad when it comes to this kind of stuff. God, or whoever, has given me an incredibly strong and healthy mind, body, and soul. And it gives me plenty more time to write and edit my book. A negative can be turned into a positive, and vice-versa - but I wouldn't advise this mode of thinking.

So, I am not really feeling any self-pity, it is just me being a little tongue-in-cheek. I feel pretty good. But I am considering that feeling sorry for ourselves is an act which goes against natural human biology. It serves no purpose to moan about an issue, when it does nothing to resolve it. Perhaps it is a self-soothing policy, an act of taking us back to the days as a helpless infant who wanted to have his or her guardians tell them it would all be better... sod that shit. The world kicks me down, I'm gonna take a knee and catch my breath for a second, glance upward at the world around me, smile like the clever and devious fella that I am, aware that I am still alive, kicking, and a little bit smarter and stronger from taking in every aspect of the experience like a sponge absorbs water - and come out swinging!

Well, something like that. I will probably just make a cup of tea ... but with lots of charismatic energy. Until the next self-pitying monster tries to strike me down.

Have a good evening all...


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