Itching

Itching to itch while itching for the future.  The closer the near future moves my way, the further away it feels.  I wait, for waiting is all I can do.  Ideas will soon blossom into reality, but for now they are only ideas that live in my head.  Fuck I am drunk off coffee.  Fuck it's hard to write with so much on my mind. Fuck I can't wait to train again.  The paragraph you are reading is and will be my final draft, no editing, no starting over, just mud that I am slinging at this screen.  Triple extension vs catapult vs my way all intertwined together in a story....yes this is what I want to write about.  But can't, my mind can't stay focused on one thing for longer than two minutes.  So I itch, scratch, and pace, drink coffee in the same place, while slapping myself in the face to wake from this realization of being completely alone in a big world.  I have been here before though. I am a life vet, a weightlifting soldier who has been to war and back.  I like the dark, no fuck it, I love the dark, wait... I welcome the dark.  Come on Jon, there is no difference from then to now.  Doubt only lives in going under 400 pounds, never in the pursuit of ripping the heads off lions.  It's either you don't or you do, and I do, we do.  

Let's be blunt, is my back getting better?... Better? It's ready for war, and war is what I am about to walk into.  Alone? Never.  I must only train with gladiators.  Spit in my face and remind me why I am doing this. You wanna fight? Let's go.  After we throw down let's then shake hands and eat a steak.  Drink milk as it runs down the side of our mouths.  Grow a beard and give the world the finger.  Tough skin makes for tough body, tough heart and a tough mind. Let's play call of duty between sessions and then go ham fucken sandwich on the platform. I fight, and I will die fighting.  Swing this axe and cut down the trees we must. Rip this head off this lion and drink its blood. Let me set up an atmosphere of dark, real, no chains and freedom.  Let me tell you about it, because as of right now that's all I can do. The next time I look at the calendar I am going to rip it off the wall and send it to those who wait to compete in their first a local meet.  Stop waiting! Get your ass out there and kill! Shankle nods his head while ripping the scabs off his rough hands.  The ideas and plans I have in my head are driving me crazy.  I want to open my mind and slam them down in front of me.  

Ring ring ring....hello....let's go....OK.  Grab your bar and meet me here in 2 days.  The eyes are watching so be calm and collect, duck under and stay hidden.  Bring your towel for sweat you will wipe, blood to clean up, and shade you will need.  Hey Dad, how am I doing?  You want to come visit me and see all that I have done? No response like usual.  Fuck em, I have you, we have us, I have weightlifting.  I am typing this incredibly fast, and I have no idea how it is going to come out.  This is the kind of writing you must do when the block of writing takes over.  It's funny, writer's block only comes from too many thoughts, rather than what some might think, not enough thoughts.  What to do when your thoughts are running all over the place? Run with them, run your fingers over the keyboard and don't stop.  Don't look up, don't worry about the spelling for right now.  Don't do what your English teacher taught you.  Listen to you, very close family and friends.  Snap back a monster and train. Write write write. Listen to the song Shankle told me about, and drink drink drink more coffee.  This watch I wear across my wrist will not move any faster, and it's making me wish I knew how to time travel.  Maybe I should of stayed in school and taken a class on this topic.  Maybe I should eat a whole bag of mushrooms and let my ideas surface to new sights.  Shit, can't do that, USADA won't leave me alone. Plus, I am not into drugs nor alcohol anymore.  I battled that war and thankfully won.  Anyone else want to get in the ring with me?  I am here all day and night.  

Light money on fire to warm ourselves in this cold gym.  I could care less about that green devil.  Turn up the techno to drown out our thoughts.  Slam bars and you know the rest.  I can't believe I am still writing without stopping once.  I must keep going before the block gets me and haters reach me.  Hater you can't find me.  I sit behind a wall full of hard work that they know nothing about, nor will they ever.  Haters equal excuses for their own let downs in life, I ain't got time for that.  See, we have many let downs and failures that we have had to come to grip with.  It's how we handled them that sets us apart from the haters.  We have dealt with them in our own way, accepted situations that we take blame for, said sorry for, and then learned from. We succeed past our failures from understanding our failures.  I believe haters have never dealt with their own loses and let downs.  It's like an alcoholic who will never admit he or she is an alcoholic.  It simply doesn't work, and the work they put in only leads to work they channel towards others.  Look, understanding the mind set of a hateful person is hard, I am probably just scratching the service.  I don't want to act like a know it all.  I must stop writing for just a second, my coffee is all out, and I am pretty sure I have a Rockstar in the fridge.......one sec...........................................................................................................  

Knees back then crack, I am back.  Posters, paint, platforms and bars.  Athletes, music, and plates.  Coffee machine, sitting bench and chalk.  Smiles and frowns, fights and hugs, pr's and misses.  A family of skeletons is what makes a gym a gym.  Itch, scratch, hot shower, cold shower, tapping fingers, clock watching, what are people thinking thoughts, too many smokes from too many coffee shots.  Come to think about it, this is the longest I have been away from training in 6 years.  My body looks different.  My face looks skinny. My hands look soft and clean, while my back and knees no longer shoot pain up my neck and into my brain.  I am a different person. A bitten zombie turned into a civilian who plays basketball outside and who shops at malls.  Disgusting is what I am. This fever that has come over me has made my bones weak, and my bubble butt smaller.  I find myself even taking the stairs for the extra cardio.....CARDIO PEOPLE! Good Lord, save me from this hell.  When a weightlifter chooses the stairs over the elevator something has gone horribly wrong.  Rest has taken over.  Soon, upcoming, around the corner I will again breath in the dust, hear the plates slam, feel the bar whip, and shoot rest in the fucken head. I will soon become a weightlifter. I will soon be home. 

Scratch 2016