H.G.T.

“I want you to hit me as hard as you can.”

Tyler’s words coming out of my mouth.

There is exhultation wrapped in panic when you fight. Once chance to feel something real, right? The price, however, is risk. You can get beat to a cream in one slipshod moment. I’ve got a weird attitude about this stuff. I don’t like it, but I love it. It feels so good to win. It feels so good, so right to feel someone else crumble in front of you. You feel like god.

Our lovely town has its own little Fight Club. We have a gentleman who puts on ‘semi-professional’ boxing matches . . . a little over a hunnerd bucks to knock the bejesus out of some poor fool.  About fifty if it’s your bejesus (small organ near spleen) left lying in the ring. Some of the people are good. A few approach damn good. Most of them are what we in the sport call “unskilled morons with chips on their shoulders.” It’s like a Logan’s run style lottery, but you get to try even if you lose the draw . . .  

One fight a week. If you don’t get knocked out. More money when you start to headline. It’s a god damn circus. The money I need is sitting there, tho . . . and I’m good, at least when I’m in shape (which, btw, I’m not).

It’s raining as I write this. I don’t mind the rain, but here it is uncharacteristic and ruins the mood of the place. I thought I was over my cold Tuesday, but I woke up yesterday almost unable to move. My throat was so constricted I could barely swallow liquid. I went to the doctor, and he looked me over, checked me out, and said that I have a pretty bad case of strep throat and the weird relief yesterday probably had just meant that it was starting to drain into my sinuses, chest, or both. Super! He put me on large red pills for infection and small brown ones for pain. I’m not to spread this germ, so I bought a few conveniences at the hybrid pharmacy/grocery store when I filled the prescription. A bottle of melatonin, which I hope is hand extracted from the heads of others, a few frozen pizzas, extra toppings for same, a large container of cran-peach juice, and a few other sundries. Thus equipped, I will muddle through the next few days, which my doctor informs me shall be hellish.  He didn’t say hellish. He talked around it in careful Doktese. . . but I know what he meant.

I’m watching armeggedon, which is such a piece of shit on one level and yet so effective on another.  I’ve watched literally everything in my house twice in the last few days. I’m actually down to things I’ve taped off tv. . .