A Champion of Our Own
Before you do anything else, click on this lady's photo...
...Now, if you are reading this it means that you're back, and ready to move on. Up and forward so to speak. Good, glad to hear it...me too. Here we go...any minute now...moooovin right along...now...
Um...this isn't as easy as I thought it would be. So what? Too bad for me.
I can be a real oblivious arsehole. For example, at my work, I 'm surrounded by a group of people who have a great wealth of knowledge, wisdom, expertise, and a vast melting pot of experience that, if approached with nuance and affection could enrich the life of any moderately intelligent, curious man alive. So. Is that how I experience these people?
Remember that I said "any moderately intelligent" man...?
Unfortunately, that is not me. No...nono. My brain focuses on paltry misunderstandings and trivial convention. If folks stop talking when I enter a room, it has to be because they had been deeming me villain of the decade, or the village idiot, or a spastic freaky psychopath worthy only of their disrespect. If anyone neglects saying hello to me in the morning, my over driven analytic paranoia promises me they all think I killed their cats or fucked their spouses or insulted their friends or stole their hubcaps or tied toddlers to railroad tracks or nailed puppies to a tree or some goddamned thing or another. It couldn't simply be that they are drained and distracted and trying to get a bit of breathing time with their friends and colleagues before the next bell rings and we all go marching back into the trenches for another round of echolalia...
To make a long story a bit less long, the truth is that I'm a social pariah, a weirdo. That's for sure. I try my best to get along with the good people of the world, but I've been forced in with so many of the bad ones so often and for so long that the good ones make me feel alien. I'm so used to being attacked from all angles, having to defend myself at all costs, that when I’m surrounded by benevolence, my mind invents shit for me to fight. I think that's what's happening, but even writing this but I am so retarded I can't say for sure.
Just know that I really do love you all.
But speaking of the good ones...before going off on this explanatory tangent, I was about to tell you about one of them. One to whom I need to say something personal, and what better place than a PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE WEBSITE? Especially when the good person in question happens to be dating a twelve-foot-tall, eight hundred and fifteen-pound behemoth who eats anglos for breakfast and drinks dehydrated galvanised steel-shakes for dessert; I wouldn’t want him to get the impression I was getting fresh with his gal…
Finally – to you, the chick in the pic:
You do not possess a single superficial bone in your body. Superficial skims the surface of what we see, say, or do, and nothing you do “skims the surface,” sweetheart. The only "super" I see in you is the hero.
It is so obvious that everything you have goes into what you do. Whether it be teaching or training or parenting or counselling or even dressing yourself every morning to march your firm, well-defined behind into this building day after day, week after week, you give yourself to completion. The day you stop marching is the day the drum needs fixin'. We need you as our super-hero. We want you as our champion.
Your intensity and dedication are unparalleled and appreciated, just as your aesthetic is unique, refreshing, invigorating to behold, especially in an environment like ours with its uniforms and its general notion of "appropriate attire." Seeing you in this place is like getting a shot of B-12 after a week of fasting...seeing you here is like the sound of the bell after a four-period day where lunch was a remedial class...it's like how I imagine you feel when savouring your first slice of all-dressed extra-cheese pepperoni pizza when you've just finished competing. Seeing you at school is like reading a kick-ass Wonder-Woman comic book after filling out tax forms...you get the point. If you were not here, the place just would not be the same because you brighten it up so much that they are wasting electricity by keeping the lights on in the rooms you occupy.
You add so much to those around you; by seeing you, we take much closer looks at ourselves whether we want to admit it or not. You wake us up, shake us about, and keep us on our toes. As for me, I'm pushed forward by your presence in the school, physically and professionally – you make me wish to become a stronger man, a better teacher, and hopefully one day, a worthwhile friend.
See you in the trenches.
...Now, if you are reading this it means that you're back, and ready to move on. Up and forward so to speak. Good, glad to hear it...me too. Here we go...any minute now...moooovin right along...now...
Um...this isn't as easy as I thought it would be. So what? Too bad for me.
I can be a real oblivious arsehole. For example, at my work, I 'm surrounded by a group of people who have a great wealth of knowledge, wisdom, expertise, and a vast melting pot of experience that, if approached with nuance and affection could enrich the life of any moderately intelligent, curious man alive. So. Is that how I experience these people?
Remember that I said "any moderately intelligent" man...?
Unfortunately, that is not me. No...nono. My brain focuses on paltry misunderstandings and trivial convention. If folks stop talking when I enter a room, it has to be because they had been deeming me villain of the decade, or the village idiot, or a spastic freaky psychopath worthy only of their disrespect. If anyone neglects saying hello to me in the morning, my over driven analytic paranoia promises me they all think I killed their cats or fucked their spouses or insulted their friends or stole their hubcaps or tied toddlers to railroad tracks or nailed puppies to a tree or some goddamned thing or another. It couldn't simply be that they are drained and distracted and trying to get a bit of breathing time with their friends and colleagues before the next bell rings and we all go marching back into the trenches for another round of echolalia...
To make a long story a bit less long, the truth is that I'm a social pariah, a weirdo. That's for sure. I try my best to get along with the good people of the world, but I've been forced in with so many of the bad ones so often and for so long that the good ones make me feel alien. I'm so used to being attacked from all angles, having to defend myself at all costs, that when I’m surrounded by benevolence, my mind invents shit for me to fight. I think that's what's happening, but even writing this but I am so retarded I can't say for sure.
Just know that I really do love you all.
But speaking of the good ones...before going off on this explanatory tangent, I was about to tell you about one of them. One to whom I need to say something personal, and what better place than a PUBLICLY ACCESSIBLE WEBSITE? Especially when the good person in question happens to be dating a twelve-foot-tall, eight hundred and fifteen-pound behemoth who eats anglos for breakfast and drinks dehydrated galvanised steel-shakes for dessert; I wouldn’t want him to get the impression I was getting fresh with his gal…
Finally – to you, the chick in the pic:
You do not possess a single superficial bone in your body. Superficial skims the surface of what we see, say, or do, and nothing you do “skims the surface,” sweetheart. The only "super" I see in you is the hero.
It is so obvious that everything you have goes into what you do. Whether it be teaching or training or parenting or counselling or even dressing yourself every morning to march your firm, well-defined behind into this building day after day, week after week, you give yourself to completion. The day you stop marching is the day the drum needs fixin'. We need you as our super-hero. We want you as our champion.
Your intensity and dedication are unparalleled and appreciated, just as your aesthetic is unique, refreshing, invigorating to behold, especially in an environment like ours with its uniforms and its general notion of "appropriate attire." Seeing you in this place is like getting a shot of B-12 after a week of fasting...seeing you here is like the sound of the bell after a four-period day where lunch was a remedial class...it's like how I imagine you feel when savouring your first slice of all-dressed extra-cheese pepperoni pizza when you've just finished competing. Seeing you at school is like reading a kick-ass Wonder-Woman comic book after filling out tax forms...you get the point. If you were not here, the place just would not be the same because you brighten it up so much that they are wasting electricity by keeping the lights on in the rooms you occupy.
You add so much to those around you; by seeing you, we take much closer looks at ourselves whether we want to admit it or not. You wake us up, shake us about, and keep us on our toes. As for me, I'm pushed forward by your presence in the school, physically and professionally – you make me wish to become a stronger man, a better teacher, and hopefully one day, a worthwhile friend.
See you in the trenches.
3 comments:
there's some vulnerable, courageous spleen on that page.
from one tard to another:
stay gold pony boy.
i love you.
Thanks.
But ain't nuthin brave about it.
Thanks for writing this.
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