I have to attend a
presentation today. It’s the kind of
presentation I detest: someone in education who claims to know better than
classroom teachers, and who only knows how to read off his own Powerpoint
without making any actual talking points.
Look, guy, I can
read. No, really. I’m not shitting you, truly, I … can … read.
This poor man tries hard
to get the audience engaged, but the presentation is dry. Wicked dry.
Like toddler teething biscuits dry.
Worse, he sounds and looks exactly like Mr. Garrison from South Park. All he needs is Mr. Hat, the creepy hand puppet,
and the transformation will be complete.
Seriously, this guy even says “Mmmmkay.”
Needless to say, by the
time I arrive home, I am completely stir-crazy from sitting still in two
different hour-long meetings this afternoon.
I immediately change into workout gear and do a couple of circuits of
arms, legs, and abs. I feel a little
better, but I’m still out of sorts, kind of agitated, somewhat pissed off, and
generally in a semi-foul mood. I try
working the weights a bit, but it’s not helping much.
I need to hit something.
I have been debating
buying one of those punching dummies, but, for now, I set up a thick, foldable
mat that I jury-rig into a decent punching bag.
I put on my cheapo fingerless, wrist wrap bag gloves and give it a
go. For fifteen straight minutes. Sometimes superimposing faces where my fists
are connecting with foam.
I decide to call it a day
after this, mostly because I’m exhausting myself and a little bit because I’m
hungry for dinner. The main reason I
stop punching, though, is because I feel better. I truly do feel better after pummeling
something with my fists (which only works because the mat cannot punch me
back).
Besides, this all helps me
to channel my agida, which is wicked important with a temper as short as mine
is.
Mmmmkay?
