Desynchronize.

Hey, random musing: So you know how when you work out really hard for the first time in a while, you say to yourself, “Fuck, I’m gonna feel this later.”  And you think you’re fine for the rest of the day because for some reason, the soreness hasn’t set in yet.  But, when you wake up in the morning, each minute movement brings your new types of pain.  You can barely get out of bed or wipe your ass.   Yeah.  That applies in other areas of life too.

Anyway, on to something else. I’m not exactly sure what made me think of this earlier, but a few months ago on a Saturday afternoon I was *trying* to clean out my garage when an old red Nissan truck pulled up in front of the house.  I didn’t recognize it, so I kept close watch.  The door opened and this slightly balding white dude stepped out. I thought to myself, “WTF is a white dude doing here?”  He stands by his door for a good 10 minutes, doing something… so I get a bit on edge.  I decide to take a closer look.  He’s putting on makeup.  And he’s wearing oversized red shoes.  I’ve caught a clown in prep. He must be heading to that birthday party down the street.

Now this is the part that got me.  He’s standing there getting ready, kinda mumbling to himself. Obviously not too happy that he’s gotta do another fucking birthday party for some obnoxious fucking kids.  He looks tired, worn out, and his fledgling combover is starting to flap in the breeze.  I feel kinda sad for the guy.  By this time he’s just about done putting on his costume, save the red foam nose.  He dabs a bit of spirit gum on the inside, and sticks it on. Done. He takes a moment to look at himself in the sideview mirror.

*snap* And he’s changed.

He lets out a pseudo-maniacal laugh and starts honking his bike horn at me, screaming “Happy Birthday!” to the air like it was the best phrase ever invented.

And in that moment, I kinda felt sad for myself.  “That’s me, I thought.  That’s me.”