I have a plan. I just need to put in play. Stick to the script.
I want to have a summer body. Yeah, I said it. I used to be naturally athletic and agile, but with years of sitting in a desk, with the most strenuous labor being adjusting an ergonomic chair, my body is weak. The good news is, I’m no Larry Holmes. Flabby an… naw my real Gs get it.
So I am not overweight. I need to start there because it isn’t that kind of party. No biggest loser. I’m just trying to get back into this shape I had going into 30, when I thought I might still have a shot in the NHL. Just kidding.
I’ve been running around the lake with my dog like a fucking idiot. I sometimes go twice a day, then walk the trail. It’s amazing to feel an old heart beat young. I remember getting a firehouse like heartburn in my chest as a kid when I ran so hard my kidneys ached. I know to stay hydrated now, but the burn feels good. Can I get an amen?
I can’t change my penis size, but I can round off some edges. I’ve always been more toned than bulky, and I doubt I’d change my diet enough to worry about that. So don’t worry ladies, I’m still going to be Trim Mississippi Slim with the Wit and the Whim (c).
I am trying to change my spiritual health. I let it die for a decade and to tell the truth, living worldly was kind of cool, but I kind of feel like its time to walk with the monks. I mean, they not like priests, they get pussy right? Just kidding.
But I am reading alot about the histories of religion, so I know me and I know what’s next – find me in a synagogue near you or draped up in a kufi.
Mentally, I’m back to where I need to be, if not where I want to be. I am stuck in adolescence and that’s cool, because I get it, but I keep wondering if the transition is waiting on a spark from some wire, or if maybe I’ve missed the signal and this is adulthood.
I guess I’ll know by Act 2.
— Ryan Mega
@ryanmega is a person. just like you. he plans to be here tomorrow. but live today.
As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII [All the world’s a stage]
Jaques to Duke Senior
All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms. Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier, Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice, In fair round belly with good capon lined, With eyes severe and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.