Obama and my feelings, special Virginia Tech Edition!!!

        So I am now at Virginia Tech. So far it’s been good, classes just started and I am taking a creative writing class, partly cause I think I would like to and partly because even though I am a science major Tech requires what’s called a class 6 (it means some sort of aesthetics shit) So that explains the following, I was a little disappointed when I got an email stating my first day of the class has been cancelled based on the "historical" inauguration. Shit dude, more people watched Carter's....Carter for god's sake! Anyway our replacement was to write about our reaction to the related situations of the day. "How we are moved"...lame. So here is my first day in my writing class. Lemme know if I was tardy.        

The day started like a few before it. The frigid draft of bedroom window pouring into my lungs throughout the night resurrects itself as glob of green good morning mucus. Which immediately upon waking, I painfully expel with a cough made of sawdust and hernias.  It’s like a mob threat from my throat reminding me I will suffer for the rest of the day, each day, until I find a solution to my ventilation problem. The hacking and flem collecting left me winded and sore. But I felt remarkably refreshed after the hedonistic shower ritual, sacrificing myself to the steam gods. The heavy steam in combination with a miniature space heater was my self-administered prescription. I had wax gremlins throwing a kegger in larynx; so I melted their asses and put them on a pneumatic flight to the drain in front of my feet. Each departure was followed by a frail but welcomed slice of relief.

                Feeling worlds better and having time to spare before what was going to be my first day as a student at Tech, I cruised over to the gym. Cardio first, I told myself in the meanwhile I can wash down some of this “big” inauguration stuff.  I found a stationary bike parked near a flat screen. It wasn’t hard, “I never seen this gym so empty, then again maybe not” I thought to myself.  The cardio room with its perpetual stairs and stationary bikes and all of its verity of human-hamster wheels where occupied by a more “mature” crowd. That’s a fucking lie, after a moment but I wondered if a retirement community had hopped a field trip. I was easily half the age of the next youngest hamster-man patron. I liked it. Somehow old people seem to take up less space at the gym, less annoying as well. With luck, when I get to that age most of my obnoxious peers will have deservedly offed themselves, you can read about these instances, Darwin Awards I think they’re called. Like I said, I was charged, ready to “lift things” as I say; it took a while before I worked up to a sweat. But before that could even happen, repeatedly I caught my eyes and attention escaping the mounted telescreen, they wandered the rubber matted room aimlessly with a disposition of apathy concerning all the pre-inauguration crap on the tube. Each time I corrected my focus I was attacked with an artificial sense of guilt and an imitated reconstruction of my diligence. Something to that effect, the point is I couldn’t care less about this shit right now, I’m in my zone! Pedaling, pedaling, the final straw came when I found myself mysteriously hypnotized by an old lady’s strobing varicose veins; bulging and disappearing and then reappearing again as she revved her elliptical wheel. This was all in unison with an entirely separate set of blue twisted cords. It reminded me of something like alternating blinking Christmas lights. I was not just staring; I was utterly mesmerized by the oddity of it. When I finally came to my own attention I mentally assembled the last moments of my life. A wave of what I can only describe as mild mortification blanketed my self-worth. Uncomfortable, I rescued my eyes and reached for my current book. “Your Inner Fish”, I won’t bore you with the corky science gibberish that strikes my interest. My point being, my will to defeat my disinterest had died.  A.D.D. is a bitch!

                I did watch the actual inauguration (live in fact). After the gym, another shower I turned it on in time to hear the majority of Obama’s lackluster speech.  Sure, I listen to it and I wanted to “feel” something from it. Of course I did, I wanted something to write about.

The operation wasn’t a complete failure; I was inadvertently being stimulated during the whole hoop-la. My eyes where digesting morsels of C-SPAN, meanwhile I my appetite was devouring an intense salad of epic proportions. It was littered with: yellows, reds, black olives, “mmm”, and feta on a bed of spinach. I’m not kidding, seriously this thing was yummy. I spent the remainder of the program chewing and thinking, “what the heck am I gonna write about?”  Joking that terrible terrible excuse of a poem what’s-her-face wrote came to mind, but that idea didn’t excite me much more than my morning visit with Mr. Mucus. The ceremony continued as did I, chewing and chewing. This salad was big, I could have mooed. It was that big. Big is the only word I want to use describing it, Big…and delicious. I finished the program and my meal, I had enough of both.

At the end of the program something occurred to me. My idea was that, riding a bike nowhere and checking out old ladies was enough to distract me from the criteria. It should work on my professor …then again maybe not.