I love being shirtless. I am shirtless right now, and it is liberating. It's really nice to be able to feel the air moving round your torso and the like whilst being unchained from our society's gripping regime of shirt wearing.
I am definitely escaping the clutches of society - I leave for audacious tomorrow, where there's all kinds of that super hippie spiritual Christian breakthrough stuff, acompanied by the usual regime of shouting, praying, generic funsies and all round madness on a 7.30 to 1 am schedule. After that, it's two weeks of WEC, where I'm going to it, then leading it for small people. That's more of the old Jesus stuff with the whole 'in a field' twist. (And during the later week, the wonderful twists that are 'being in charge' and 'attacking children')
Going away for three weeks straight (There's a turnaround between the two events that spans about 10 hours, most of which I will be asleep for.) requires a three week supply of trousers. I happen to have the wonderful combination of two of the worlds best ailments - being dangerously manly and dyspraxic. That's not the sort of lifestyle that really supports having trousers and wearing them, but the whole 'regime of society' thing requires that I do this. What this means is that I have to be constantly replenishing a small supply of trousersat the same rate that they are destroyed by falling out of things, or pavement grating my knees after being thrown off my kickboard. I don't fall of my kickboard anymore, because it is dead, but the lack of trousers it gifted me have haunted in a way far more real than the painful memories of its passing.
By way of conluding this drawn out and woeful period of my life (represented mimetically by the above nine line paragraph that basically reads 'I don't have trousers.') I went trouser and short shopping today, and came home with everything I left with, only less money and more trousers and shorts. Through this proccess of money-losing and trouser-gaining, I saw a great many things. Most of them were trousers (or indeed shorts). Some of the shorts were orange, and I nearly bought them, but they were for fat people. Apparently a lot of shorts are for fat people, because there was hardly anything in my size. If I were a woman I'd feel really good about it, but I'm just tired from looking for shorts. I am also dissapointed by society, because today I realised that a lot of shorts for men have flowers on, and regardless of what anyone says or thinks, that is not cool. Flowers, gentlemen, are for girls.
Also my sisters and mum helped a friend of ours move and they found an old gameboy and gave it to us. When I say old gameboy, I mean first edition 'first handheld videogames console to have ever existed' kind of old. It's all rather nifty, because it came with Super Mario Land, and Ruth just have me SML 2 for my birthday. (It's in four days, buy me stuff.)
Anyway, roll on summer. Have a good one, avid readers!
I am definitely escaping the clutches of society - I leave for audacious tomorrow, where there's all kinds of that super hippie spiritual Christian breakthrough stuff, acompanied by the usual regime of shouting, praying, generic funsies and all round madness on a 7.30 to 1 am schedule. After that, it's two weeks of WEC, where I'm going to it, then leading it for small people. That's more of the old Jesus stuff with the whole 'in a field' twist. (And during the later week, the wonderful twists that are 'being in charge' and 'attacking children')
Going away for three weeks straight (There's a turnaround between the two events that spans about 10 hours, most of which I will be asleep for.) requires a three week supply of trousers. I happen to have the wonderful combination of two of the worlds best ailments - being dangerously manly and dyspraxic. That's not the sort of lifestyle that really supports having trousers and wearing them, but the whole 'regime of society' thing requires that I do this. What this means is that I have to be constantly replenishing a small supply of trousersat the same rate that they are destroyed by falling out of things, or pavement grating my knees after being thrown off my kickboard. I don't fall of my kickboard anymore, because it is dead, but the lack of trousers it gifted me have haunted in a way far more real than the painful memories of its passing.
By way of conluding this drawn out and woeful period of my life (represented mimetically by the above nine line paragraph that basically reads 'I don't have trousers.') I went trouser and short shopping today, and came home with everything I left with, only less money and more trousers and shorts. Through this proccess of money-losing and trouser-gaining, I saw a great many things. Most of them were trousers (or indeed shorts). Some of the shorts were orange, and I nearly bought them, but they were for fat people. Apparently a lot of shorts are for fat people, because there was hardly anything in my size. If I were a woman I'd feel really good about it, but I'm just tired from looking for shorts. I am also dissapointed by society, because today I realised that a lot of shorts for men have flowers on, and regardless of what anyone says or thinks, that is not cool. Flowers, gentlemen, are for girls.
Also my sisters and mum helped a friend of ours move and they found an old gameboy and gave it to us. When I say old gameboy, I mean first edition 'first handheld videogames console to have ever existed' kind of old. It's all rather nifty, because it came with Super Mario Land, and Ruth just have me SML 2 for my birthday. (It's in four days, buy me stuff.)
Anyway, roll on summer. Have a good one, avid readers!
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