So as I bent over and grabbed the prowler legs thinking that secretly I was glad to have a ferociously hard task to channel all my frustration and determination. It is the only task Paul gives me where my whole body is so freaked out that all the parts come together as a team without the brain interfering (my Brain seems to think it can run things better.) My Brain is like Big Federal Government over-controlling all the State-run local businesses with complete disregard for their wildly different needs, and with no idea how to delegate. But I digress.
Back to the Prowler. So I shoved. Nothing happened. I realized instantaneously that Paul had slid an extra wheel or something onto the Prowler. Determined to pretend I had not noticed this stealthy maneuver, I bent over further, dug my toes into the crease in the sidewalk and shoved harder: the prowler screeched and scraped across the parking lot. My body tightened up in terror and ran on instinct.
My brain, now completely free to kick back and Beta-away, began to examine the experience of the prowler. It's a mixed experience : part of the difficulty of pushing is the joy of effort. This joy is counter-balanced by the vampire blood-sucking sensation when I stop pushing. But then the horror of the draining-death sensation makes the joy of the effort that got me there even sharper.
Does this make sense? My Brain, sipping champagne and nibbling a water cracker, thought so.
So to distract myself from the creepy sense that my energy was seeping through every cell wall into some giant dimensional leech, I tried to think what that sensation actually was. While I am sure that Kelly and Paul have loads of technical terms, I was thinking metaphysically.
This is what I came up with:
The prowler sucks all the bad stuff out of you. It sucks out the pain & misery that you ever experienced. It sucks out all that negative goo that clumps around your spirit giving you nightmares about exploding veins, swamps, driving off unfinished bridges, thus reducing you to a mere battery in the Matrix.
Anyway, it sucks out the bad stuff; and now you have space to put in new good stuff.
So then my brain, chewing thoughtfully on a chocolate wafer, wondered why sucking out bad stuff would have to feel so gross! But then I thought, well, it's hecka less painful having the Metal Leech drain out the misery and unhappiness than it was to go through the uber-painful suffering of bad experiences in the first place.
Anyway, all of this is probably just prowler-delirium, since my brain was not integrated with my body as it staggered spewing sweat and foam through all ten runs without collapsing which is actually quite amazing considering Paul felt it necessary to cheerfully recount a series of vomiting stories to me between runs.
Back to the Prowler. So I shoved. Nothing happened. I realized instantaneously that Paul had slid an extra wheel or something onto the Prowler. Determined to pretend I had not noticed this stealthy maneuver, I bent over further, dug my toes into the crease in the sidewalk and shoved harder: the prowler screeched and scraped across the parking lot. My body tightened up in terror and ran on instinct.
 |
| What? Someone already had this idea for a movie? |
Does this make sense? My Brain, sipping champagne and nibbling a water cracker, thought so.
So to distract myself from the creepy sense that my energy was seeping through every cell wall into some giant dimensional leech, I tried to think what that sensation actually was. While I am sure that Kelly and Paul have loads of technical terms, I was thinking metaphysically.
 |
| But I'll bet no one has thought of *this* movie idea! |
The prowler sucks all the bad stuff out of you. It sucks out the pain & misery that you ever experienced. It sucks out all that negative goo that clumps around your spirit giving you nightmares about exploding veins, swamps, driving off unfinished bridges, thus reducing you to a mere battery in the Matrix.
Anyway, it sucks out the bad stuff; and now you have space to put in new good stuff.
So then my brain, chewing thoughtfully on a chocolate wafer, wondered why sucking out bad stuff would have to feel so gross! But then I thought, well, it's hecka less painful having the Metal Leech drain out the misery and unhappiness than it was to go through the uber-painful suffering of bad experiences in the first place.
Anyway, all of this is probably just prowler-delirium, since my brain was not integrated with my body as it staggered spewing sweat and foam through all ten runs without collapsing which is actually quite amazing considering Paul felt it necessary to cheerfully recount a series of vomiting stories to me between runs.
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