Nothing like a nice, hot shower after a good workout.
And this was definitely nothing like a nice, hot shower. This was a vengeful shower, in which the temperature fluctuated from scalding to tepid without notice. Added to that is the fact that this is the first workout in 6 months, coming at the end of a 30-hour shift, and you can imagine why "Mr. E" (how I cringe at that awful, hokey pseudonym) is eager to catch a nap.
Well, if you are one of the five regular readers of this whatever-it-is, you will know that the italics indicate that this is an inner monologue. The agreement is that I can have this entry to tell you a few things he wouldn't say himself. Please note that he isn't psychotic. There isn't some kind of multiple personality disorder going on here. I am as much him as he is.
So who am I? Use whatever name suits you: Conscience, Id, Super Ego, there are many names, and you have one yourself. There are some people who have managed to silence theirs, but they usually end up on Jerry Springer confessing to having had an affair with their neighbor's cousin's zookeeper. Besides, it is always so much easier to be critical in the third person than in the first, if you catch my meaning.
So let me tell you a few things about E.
In spite of the things a few people say about him, he isn't heroic, or even all that interesting. He is, quite frankly, whiney. He constantly gripes about the living conditions, the food, the hours, the people with whom he is surrounded. He wants to go home. Has he mentioned that? Because I hear it all the time. It's a constant, inceasant drone, like a fly in the room that is just out of reach.
He is impatient. I honestly think the main reason he is unarmed is because he believes so many people could desperately benefit from someone shooting at their feet, for motivational purposes. The term, "Dance, Varmint!" pops up frequently when he is imagining these scenarios. He has a particularly difficult time dealing with people who are unfortunate enough to have missed out on any of the education that he has obtained, as he expects any adult to know as much about any topic as he does. This doesn't appear to apply to children, though. Perhaps it is because, socialy and emotionally, he is still very much the same person he was in his early teens.
He is, when it comes down to it, rather timid and afraid. He will not put himself in any sort of danger if he can possibly avoid it. When he absolutely has to, he prays at a level that would make Mother Theresa look like an agnostic. He at least has the courtesy to insist that a minimum of additional personnel be put in danger along with him, but he tends to exagerate the hazzards of helicopter flights and convoys more than they deserve. He is also afraid of heights, by the way.
When it comes down to it, there is very little admirable about him. The only truly respectable thing about him is also his greatest vice, in my opinion. Because of his enormous pride and ego, he doesn't subject everyone around him to all this. He may be a whiney, impatient sniveling little coward, but at least he keeps it to himself. The only one that has to listen to it is me.
Except, that is, for his poetry. As hard as I try, I haven't been able to get him to give it up. He writes some of the most awful verse imaginable, and then puts it, not in the wastebasket like a sensible man would, but on the internet.
But that is a discussion for another time. Pretty soon that enormous ego of his is going to keep him from hitting the "save" button on this, or he is going to lose his nerve and delete the entry. If he ever lets me write again, maybe I will do one of those, "50 Things Mr. E. Doesn't Want You To Know About Him" lists.
Posted by rant/blatherskite
at 9:18 AM GMT
Updated: Sunday, 1 February 2004 4:28 PM GMT
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Updated: Sunday, 1 February 2004 4:28 PM GMT
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