half past nomad

Frightened, every creature exhibits natural instintive patterns. Some fish blow up into a larger size. Some insects play dead. Carnivores go on a murdering rampage to show their total unsatisfaction with the Atkins Diet, especially since it said “no more fried {insert animal hunted down today here}”.
Alas.

Similarly, your breath has an instintive habit. Upon fright, it takes off faster then you can. Like a bolt of lightening, faster then Mighty Mouse, it’s off in any direction it can find, a blind racehorse deposited magically in the middle of a happy happy green field. Due to our inane inability to live without breathing, we are forced, once again instinctively, to run like mad right after this precious breath of ours. We dash insanely, jump incredibly high and hit the ground with a perfect roll and hop. It’s amazing really, the things we can do if we absolutely don’t think about it.
It reminds me of Douglas Adam’s secret to flying. It’s to fall, yes, but to fall without hitting the ground. It’s the details that make the difference.

Eventually, you catch your breath and in a hurried manner of a gentleman caught with TP on his shoes, you stuff and stuff and stuff that breath back into you, a little embarassed at the world around you. Passerby give you looks that say “Hey, dude, what happened? Did Timmy fall down the well again?” and all you can reply back is the huffing, the puffing and the horizontal hand shaking that means “No no, I’m ok, really. I even goto the gym on a regular basis. Want to see my card? I have it. Come back here and see my card! Come back!”

And that is how I explain my need to carry around a whip, to scare my breath occasionaly, randomly, frequently, any minute now and thus eventually tame it into submission. That and because I always leave my drinks too far to reach.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 5th, 2004 at 5:09 pm and is filed under General Lee.