Pig Talk

In my normal manner of starting in a way that is completely unrelated to anything else in the blog, I hereby state that I have been on an impromptu sabbatical. I understand that all great writers of any era have always needed a time when they get away from their work (which is understandable, most people switch careers at least five times in their life) and my current lack of greatness rating means that I'm entitled to even longer periods of rest. The world seems to think it's backwards, though, and gives much more licence to truly great writers for rest taking and sabbaticals, which makes no sense to me, because if they are so great you'd think their tolerance level would be much higher than one who was not so spectacular.

Anyway, I'm done now and plan to actually blog with more than a random effort, but concerted and controlled I will go forth and blog many a blog, type many an ill fonted letter, and generally make a fool out of myself.

I also take this opportunity to announce to one and all that my brother, Tolkien Boy, and I have started up a blog of poetry. Mostly because we both enjoy writing it, and the easiest way for it to share it with each other is through blog. If ever you should feel the desire to read some amateur poetry that is almost qualifying of the grand (but not quite great) rating, then feel free to peruse. The blog's title is Ebulliency. As of right now I don't actually know what that means, but I like it, and I'm sure it's something wonderful.

So, this week I began a new workout routine, benefitting from my friend's mother's interest in having a beach body. The workout, referred to as P90X is supposed to give you the body you want (within limits, of course) within 90 days. I do not know as of yet whether the program will give the results I'm looking for. That might be because I continue eating, and if anything am eating even more than before, and it might also be because the results I'm looking for are impossible. I want to look like the instructor, and heaven knows, as well as anyone who has met me, that I don't have black hair or dark eyes. Sigh, I will never be tall dark and handsome. However, having one and a half of two of those will suffice. (I'm only half tall. It's a little like being half naked only better).

And so I began this exercise program. I have seen things in a new light since then. New work, new vision, new life, new energy, and a new understanding of pigs. Yes, the swirling feeling that I get as I lay, hyperventilating, after each and every workout that I do (which is basically every day excepting Sundays) watching the ceiling reel to and fro like a drunken man (or woman, we're equal opportunity here), has brought on new revelations, as has my experience following these close to drugged experiences.

Basically, the soreness has not left me since Monday. It's beautiful, but it's death at the same time (beautiful death, sounds like an abstract poem or funny movie). Every time I move the muscles in some part or t'other of my body files for a divorce. You can imagine what my poor brain has been through, with all the legal issues of keeping my body together, and every once and awhile (which translates to every time I move) my brain has to stop worrying about somethings when I move.

For instance, the pride control gets short circuited. I no longer care much what I look like when I move. Mostly I just want to move in the least painful way possible. If that involves crawling on the floor till I get near enough to a couch to kind of slidle up into a sitting position and then get up on the couch, I'll do it. Even if I look like nothing more than an ambitious worm.

But that's not the worse. Oh no, the sound monitor shuts down as well, and all sorts of things start coming from my mouth. Near obscenities aren't all that uncommon, but by far the most frequent thing that comes from me that you will not hear when I'm not sore is pig speech. That's right, I've learned a new language. I can talk Pig. No no, not pig latin, I can talk pure Pig. Yes, I suddenly understand why it is that every time they move (and sometimes even when they don't) you here guttural grunts coming from some unpopular animals.

Oh well, I guess that one can only process so much. After all, looking and sounding like an idiot is not nearly as important as not being divorced of your right thigh. But let's face it, my new found language is not going to help me any with my dating tactics.