i have a pugilist quota that as a minimum includes punching some version of pads every other day--with wacky and unstable looking intent.
against my better judgement, if i have missed my opportunity and say, left it until everyone's asleep [downstairs border;wife;mother-in-law;2 year old son;one jumpy lunatic pitbull-mix dog]...well, then i have to go somewhere to get in my quota.
last night it meant taking some folded up exercise matts and propping them up against a wall in an empty parking lot. and going through about ten simple and ferral drills.
i could hear some drunken halfwits listening to falsetto 70's hippy-ish music, babbling semi-incoherently things like, "i love you man" and "until the end, i'm going to be there with you"...and "fuck everyone else, no one looks after you like i do"...mixed in with out of tune singing--karioki style, with the music.
to make this short(er): the more i punched (they didn't seem to directly notice anything)...the more violent sounding the conversation was getting.
from 'peace and love' to (joking now) more of a 'fuckity fuck fuck' kind of conversation that resembled someone trying to pump themselves up.
ha ha.
the punching was infiltrating their subconscious minds and making their dialogues increasingly violent.
i didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
it was interesting.
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