It's not very often that I punch a wall. But I think I've done it twice this year so far. I don't even remember the first time. Today, though, is fresh on my mind.
It has been a good (crappy) week so far. There have been some (a ton of) things to do and it feels like I always have plenty (hardly any) of time to finish everything. It felt like my mind was training for the marathon just as hard as my legs with all the running through to-do lists and appointments and assignments required for this week. In so doing, it forgot a minor (major) list item: class at 1.
Somehow, I totally forgot I had class until 1:17 when my class buddy texted me and asked if I was skipping, because I had just missed a sweet quiz.
As my face's temperature increased at an alarming rate and my legs began carrying me to my protective cave of a room, I couldn't help but notice my arm swinging up quickly towards the small section of wall to the right of the closet. Very soon my knuckles were crunching into the firm wall as they came to an abrupt stop on the innocent surface. With nothing but raging desire to do it again, I lowered my fist and rocked to my room where I sat in tense contemplation for a few moments on my bed.
Needless to say, Ben was quiet for a few minutes after I returned to the kitchen and resumed preparing lunch with him. I suppose it also goes without say that my middle, and most protrusiverising, knuckle is a vaguely purplish color and quick to remind me when it grazes anything that doesn't start and end with a-i-r.
I don't suppose there is any need to go around punching walls; it certainly leaves a quaint reminder of the folly for several days. And I won't try to make excuses. I was infuriated at missing class, not only because it was a stupid freshman mistake that I almost made not three days ago, but because it quickly reminded me of how helpless I am at remembering to do and actually accomplishing everything that I am "supposed" to do. With running, eating, sleeping, classing, talking, transportationerizing, studying, listening, reading, thinking, pooping, showering and other things-ing, it's often difficult for me to be alert and aware every waking moment of the day. Unfortunately, that results in bruised knuckles, a sour spirit, and fewer points towards my grade than my scholarships like.
I'd say the wall deserved everything it got and more.
3 comments:
I don't want to encourage violent outbursts, but I'd have to say this is my favourite blog of yours yet. I should clarify by saying I hope the week is getting easier, and I did not take joy is your upsets. However, if you should need to punch once more, I recommend aiming in the direction of the bed (I have done this, and it was much better than the wall). Not only will your hand be more forgiving to this activity, you will likely also get the chance to do it more than once. Ultimate satisfaction.
I don't know how you feel about your misfortune becoming excellent entertainment on the blogosphere, but I thoroughly enjoyed the blog as well. I hope your hand feels better, and for your sake, though it would make a good story, I hope you don't miss class again.
"Protrusiverising" is officially my favorite word of today. I hope I can use it sometime.
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