Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness - Dostoyevsky

And suffering I am today.

Getting a little stir crazy from a lack of exercise, I decided to ignore my doctor's orders and go to the gym last night. I tried to lift some weights, but I heard a nauseating "clicking" sound in my sternum with each rep, so I thought it best to stop. "If I can't lift, and I can't run, I'll ride", and hopped on a stationary bicycle. The last time I rode a stationary bike I was in 12th grade. A few guys on my wrestling team and I were trying to "suck weight" the night before "New England's". Like hundreds of times before, we had placed three bikes in the men's room shower and turned all the heads on as hot as they would go, simulating a spa. We then put on our rubber suits, and a few sweat shirts each, and rode until we made weight. Obviously, I don't have fond memories of riding exercise bikes.

I rode for about 30 minutes with the bike programed for "random hill climb". I rode as hard and fast as I could. Sometimes my legs would be spinning like 5000rpm's, and when the bike was simulating a (seemingly vertical) incline, I could barely churn out three pumps in 30 seconds. When the timer finally hit my predetermined 30 minute limit, I wasn't sure I could stand if I got off the seat. I eventually did, and walked into the aerobics room to stretch my legs. I found myself saying "I'm so fucking out of shape. I really have to do something about this." My shirt was totally soaked, and I could feel that the back of my shorts were soaked as well (swamp-ass, that's nice). I also noticed I was drooling. I went into a little nook by the trainer's office and spit a giant, disgusting wad into a trash can. I rounded the corner out of the nook with my head down, and saw a lanky orange figure walking towards me. I looked up, pulled focus, and saw it was GG. She clearly heard me just spit into a trash can. "Awesome.", I meant to think it, but it came out of my mouth. I made eye contact and half heartedly nodded at her, and in return, she half-smiled back.

I am always embarrassing myself in front of women, but it doesn't seem to hurt my chances with them.

The summer after I graduated college I worked as a doorman at a bar, and I had a huge crush on this waitress, Jill. I flirted with her, but never really got much positive feedback from her.

One Sunday morning I was riding the train home from NYC, where I had gone out partying with my college friends who lived in the city. I was riding alone, and had come strait from the bar to the train. I was in that weird limbo between drunk and hung-over where you seem to be hovering just outside of your own body, witnessing yourself in the third-person. While I sat there I could feel my boxers riding up, but I was too shot to care at first. Eventually, however, I felt like the waist band was at my chest, so I walked to the restroom three cars away. In the restroom I undid my pants, pulled down my boxers, and then put myself back together. This had never happened to me before, I was just so fucking uncomfortable.

I walked back to my seat, but by the time I got there my boxers were back up at my chest. I was furious. "What the fuck! Why is this happening to me? Just let me fucking sleep." I said out loud to no one. A few people around me were starting to look a little nervous.

Rather than walk all the way back to the car with the bathroom, I walked forward half a car length and out the door of the car. I stood on that tiny platform between the two speeding trains and unzipped my fly. I reached into my pants with my right hand and grabbed hold of one of the legs of my boxers and pulled it down. I then repeated the process with my left hand. Before I could withdraw my left hand from my pants I heard the door behind me open up. "Oh shit" I though "you're busted". I took quiet solice in the fact that I probably wouldn't know the person who will undoubtedly think for the rest of his or her life that they caught someone masturbating on a platform between two moving trains in the Bronx. As slickly as I could I stood up, withdrew my arm from my pants, and moved forward through the door in front of me (even though my jacket was in the car behind me). I moved into the train and swung around and sat in the first empty seat. I looked down, my fly was wide open, so I covered the gap with my arm. When I looked back up Jill was standing in the isle next to me. She said "NN? What are you doing?"

I did a lot of double-talking to distract Jill from the fact that she just caught me elbow-deep in my own zipper. I sat with her and her friends the rest of the ride home. When the train got to our stop Jill took my number and later that night we met out for a beer. Two days later we hooked up and were friends with benefits for about three months. Jill later admitted that she saw I had my hand in my pants, and never fully believed I wasn't playing with myself.

I don't think a big nasty lugy will kill my chances with GG, if there ever was a chance.

Yesterday I texted that girl Lavita, who I met at Madam's Organ a few months ago (Lobster or Leftovers). She was the bi-sexual chick that was covered in huge tattoos. I haven't talked to her in months, but she didn't think it was at all unusual to get a text from me out of the clear blue. She suggested we meet up this week for a drink.

I leave tonight for a short business trip. I will be back in the city late Friday night, maybe I will get together with Lavita then.

Bear invited me to go hiking/climbing on Saturday, but I declined, my ribs are still killing me, and if I fell I would surely crack more.

Finally, I read this great quote in Ultra Marathon Man, Confessions of an All-night Runner, by Dean Karnazes.

"Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming: 'Wow! What a ride!'"

I thought it was appropriate.