So, yes, it's now been 1 month and ten days since I last posted. And it had been about 3 months since I posted before that.
Let me explain: I'm lazy.
Not so much lazy as I have a short attention span.
Not so much a short attention span at any one time, but more like I have a problem with follow . . . see, I get hyped up about things in short bursts.
To borrow a phrase from Wedding Crashers, "I'm an idea man. I thrive on enthusiasm." (Also a great line, but nowhere near pertinent to my point: "I just almost nunchucked you, you don't even realize.") I get all these ideas, and I decide I'm gonna start doing them likeallthetimestartingrightnowandforeverthisisgonnabeaweseome! I'll get all jazzed up and then I'll do those things for about a week, and then something comes up and I kinda lose track. And next thing you know, 4 months have gone by. That's how my brain works. I'm an idea sprinter.
I'm the first to admit it, I have a problem with follow through. I'd be a world famous artist right now if I could just stop walking away to answer the phone and then going out to get a drink before doing some surfing after a kickball game, all the while letting the watercolors dry up before I finish number 12 (my dream is to be a famous paint-by-number artist).
Instead I'm sitting around here with all these half-painted canvases of what I think is supposed to be the Statue of Liberty among all my half-read books lying on top of half-opened computers containing half-written blog posts sitting next to fully empty bottles of wine. There are some things I do actually finish, and wine is one of them.
Another thing, and the reason why I am so tired (told you I'd get to it), is running. I don't mean I started running and haven't stopped, even to this very minute. I'm not that good of a runner or typer.What I mean is I've been running somewhat consistently over the past couple of months. Why you might ask? (or ax, depending on your dialect). Answer: I'm running a half-marathon. Why, you ax? Answer, shut up, that's why.
It's not important why I decided to run this half-marathon; that's between me and Muuuuuhommad. What's important is so far I've followed through. Unlike with my ideas, I'm not a half-marathon sprinter. And that's good because my heart would probably explode around mile 3, and someone would have to clean up that mess, which, yes, I know what you're going to say, is good for the economy because it creates jobs for janitors and coroners and gives another cadaver to medical students to practice colonoscopies on, which yes, if you're wondering is my will for my body if I die--I'm specifically donating it to science so that medical students can practice colonoscopies, it's an important procedure--it saves a lot of lives and is important to get right, hence the practice for future doctors--but in the grand scheme of things I'd rather not die while sprinting in a half-marathon. My goal is to get gunned down by the FBI while driving a hijacked Coca-Cola truck towards the US-Mexican border. Anyone who knows me knows that.
But I digress, sort of. I don't plan on sprinting in the half-marathon. I also have not been "sprinting" in the process of training for it (Ahh, it's a metaphor for life). I mean, I started it, and I've followed through with it. So far. I still have 3 weeks.
There have been some benefits to this. The first that comes to mind is Henry is dead.
Who is Henry, you ax? Henry is (was?) my gut. Henry first showed up somewhere between junior and senior year, the latter semester of my junior year having been spent in London drinking many, many a pint before even 2 in the afternoon and slamming 3 or 4 doner kebab before having some more pints and topping off the night with some Kennessy's Fried Chicken and Kinder Bueno (I tried to find a link for Kennessy's Fried Chicken. Suffice to say, it was glorious in its greasiness. Also, sometimes it was undercooked). So yes, Henry was a baby born of debauchery whilst abroad, and he stuck around after that, senior year proving that the time in London was merely an unambitious prelude.
At the height of Henry's reign of terror, I was eating at McDonald's twice a day--2 double cheeseburgers, large fries and Coke, and McFlurry, cause why the fuck not at that point? Then one day, I realized that that meal had in the neighborhood of 2500 calories. Multiply that times 2 plus, breakfast, drinking, snacks . . . you get the picture. Speaking of getting the picture, because I know you're dying to see, here's a pic of Henry in his prime:
Yup good ol' Henry. Could have been a lot worse, obviously--it's not like I was trying out for the Biggest Loser or anything. But, there's a spare tire there. Also, side note, I used to shave my chest and stomach. I think the only thing that could have made Henry worse was if he was all hairy too.
Anyway, the point is, no one would fault me for calling Henry a "gut." It doesn't take a first year med student who has never even performed his first colonoscopy to diagnose that. And that was senior year. He hung around for about 3 more years after that, like a personal floaty device in case my plane had to make an emergency landing in water. No seat-bottom cushions for MikeeP.
Anyway, Henry's dead now. Twas the running that killed him. Tale as old as time, really.
I can't say I'm sad, but he did provide a good source of entertainment, and for that I'm forever grateful. And somehow, I feel like he's not quite gone, like he'll never really be gone. He's always there, lurking just beneath the surface, just biding his time until the day that I finish my half-marathon, get my wine glass and down a bottle or 2 of wine (did I mention there's a wine tasting festival set up at the end of the race?) and demand that my designated driver head straight to Mickey D's for a 2500 calorie celebratory snack. On that day, Henry, not unlike Jesus, will return and impose his judgment on me. I can only hope he'll be happy I fed him.
MikeeP
PS in lieu of flowers, Henry requested that you send monetary donations to his favorite charity. Just send me the money and I'll be sure to pass it on to the charity. Honestly. Also, for the love of God, make sure to get those colonoscopies--you can never be too careful.
