Free Write - Sprinting

A series of four free writes, of respective lengths 7, 11, 3, and 1 minutes.

What's in your pants/backpack/car/head?
7 minutes


The same usual items are in my pants. My wallet sits comfortably in my left pocket, while my cell phone holds court in my right. Between them, there lies a vast valley of dirty jokes and a ever-changing pillar of masculine symbology. I suppose one could also argue that my legs are in my pants, as each does occupy a legging. They are large legs, toned like always. Not quite tree-trunk thighs, but they have always been the thickest part of my thin self. I can feel the faint ache in my calves; the reminder of the run I took in Prospect Park today. It's a good ache, and, truth be told, not one that really bothers me. I remember true aches, aches that came from weeks of cross-country practice back at Gould, aches that persisted long after a shower, aches that made Lucien and I groan in unison as we descended the stairs of our dorm in the never-ending quest for food. These faint aches are practically friendly in comparison, gentle reminders saying "You did it, you went and worked me, you went outside, that is good." I appreciate such gentle remarks because, at least in regards to running, they are all I am likely to receive these days. I do not have a running partner, and my old cross-country team has long since scattered to the winds of adulthood. My friends and lovers are not runners in any way, shape, or form, and I'm more likely to have to defend my sanity then fend off flattery should I bring up a run I went on the other day. So really, these days I am running for myself. And when I am the only motivator I have, I do run considerably less. I run less for the physical exercise and more for the hope of mental peace. I am no longer.

The last thing that made us feel disgusting
11 minutes


If I try to think of the last thing that made me feel disgusting, nothing actually immediately jumps to mind. Maybe today, at the end of my run, when I was sweaty and hot and cold all at the same time? Maybe how I felt as I got in the car and drove while sitting in that pile of my own sweat? Sweat is definitely something that makes me feel gross, which is a pity, as I sweat pretty easily. Sleeping in my bed, I can fall victim to that a lot. I like to have really heavy blankets, not for their warmth, but because the weight is comforting. However, heavy frequently equals warm, which means that in my search for comfort, I am likely to overheat, and sweat in my sleep. Waking up to a sweaty bed with covers and sheets twisted and strewn about from my uncomfortable shifting definitely makes me want to take a shower. But, the feeling there is more aptly described by 'gross'. To me, 'disgusting' is a whole other level, one that implies sheer repulsion. 'Disgust' is an emotion, a feeling towards something, and perhaps I feeling that I am very afraid to be the recipient of.

Often times, it is my interactions with others that make me feel disgust. Very rarely do I feel disgust for another, but all too frequently will I review a past interaction in my head and find my actions, words, everything I did to be disgusting. To point to a mild example, I was alone with Alex the night before last. She had told me two weeks hence that she was probably not going to want to get very physical for awhile, due to the grief caused by a close friend of hers dying. I understood completely, and while my hormones were disappointed, my hearts empathy was the far stronger cry in my head. However, this sort of situation was one I was familiar with. I didn't want to misread signals and go to far, only to have her be uncomfortable and stop me, as that would make neither of us feel good. So I asked her what sort of limits she'd like to set, but she declined to set any specifics. It was going to be too variable, she said. I'd just have to listen to her, and try to gauge things as best I could. That night, she had been going after my neck while we were watching a movie, and then there was talking, and at one point the mood seemed to be right, we were both grinning as I pinned her hand while my other found her breast until all of a sudden
"Don't."
My hands were instantly away, touching nothing but themselves, as I recoiled, terrified of the simple word. It was precisely what I was afraid of, precisely what I didn't want to do, but it had done. I stopped being afraid of myself long enough to see she still wanted to be held, which is something, and eventually calmed myself down, but in that moment I felt nothing but disgust for myself. Upon recollection, I know that it wasn't nearly as bad as my first reaction. It was what was expected to happen, and I did what she wanted, she wasn't bothered by that, only I was obsessing over it. Rationally, I can look back at that now. But at that moment, in that time, disgust with myself was all I could help to feel.

Hakuna Matata - What does it mean to you?
4 minutes


I could write something in response to this prompt. Or...

I could just listen to it.

Yeah, listening to it. No worries.

Write about a weird or shitty or awesome job that you had. Preferably a weird one.
1 minute


The general store. Man, what a mundane job with such weird people. In that tiny little kitchen (with the temperature always 30 degrees hotter than it was outside), worked an executive chef, a world-class tattoo artist, a brilliant musician who could play eleven different instruments, a Harvard student, a Chicago Institute of the Arts student, and some kind of crazy writer/computer programmer combo.