So Outpost31 is teaching me how to fight. Not verbally or emotionally, that I can handle quite easily by myself. No, he’s got me delivering punches and kicks and ELBOWS TO THE TEETH and he’s bound and determined that someday, somehow, I will be able to deliver one of these fierce death blows without tipping over off my feet. Like I’ve always said, I was born with the wrong set of feet. These are far too small for my height and I have zero coordination, so yeah. The falling. I’m much better at the falling than I am at the punching.
This is not to say that I don’t ENJOY the punching and the kicking and the DEATH ELBOWS because I do. I love punching and kicking and delivering BLOWS OF DEATH, I’m just not very good at it. And then something curious happened this morning. I woke up after torturing Outpost31 all night with my snoring (I’m beginning to fear that he’s not making this up, y’all) and lifted my arm to scrub my hair so I look like Don King. It’s a look, I just go for it, man.
ANYWAY! I lifted my arm to scritch my head and ow! OW! There was pain! In my arm! More specifically, the underside part of my upper arm HURT, DAMMIT. I tested the other arm. OW! More pains!!! What had happened to me? I didn’t know that THAT part of a person could hurt. Triceps, Google tells me. My triceps hurt. Did you know I had triceps? I did not. The more you know! (rainbow)
So I’m tough, man. TOUGH!!! A punching, kicking, elbowing fool, and I only knocked over Outpost31’s speaker once as I flailed around trying not to fall the hell down. There’s no possible way this could end badly or with me in traction, right? Sure!