My Ego

It should be big. I'm terrific.

But I've been bumping up against it, today. I seem to be entering the manic stage of my bipolarism, and I'm full of aggression and energy. So I was thinking this morning about pulling out all the stops when I roll, just to see what I can do. So I sent an email to one of my good buddies, asking him what he thought the pecking order of our academy was. So he's a gossipy bitch gayboy -- he'll deny it, and claim he's a butch trash-talker, but I think I know what he is better than he does. So he sent back a thoughtful list, and I was number nine. So he ranked me below fellas I either regularly beat, or draw, but rarely lose to. The fag. Just gay, is all.

My ego wants to get defensive, and argue. But all of these guys have more skill than I do. Bones make the difference. I'm interested in results though, for purposes of this inquiry. I never really get to go full blast. Hardly ever. But tonight I rolled with some big tough guys -- got squashed under gigantic L and tapped. There is no way he weighs 240. No way. 270. At least. I cannot play my game with him. He waits till I pull guard, then he waits till I loosen it up to attack, then he stacks me and passes and squashes me. Literally cannot breathe. It's fair play. I'll figure it out. And it's what I'm looking for. Then R passed my guard too, and worked me hard for 20 minutes. I survived. We'll call it a draw.

A good night. I figured out the solution to what's been troubling me. I have to single out the tough guys, and just roll with them. Tactical change. Challenge my social retardation.

Then there's this other thing. About my ego. Couple nights ago two fellas were rolling and something happened. By chance it was videoed, and now it's on the internet. So far so good. But there I am in the background, shirt off, flexing in the mirror. Honestly. I am. "Hey dude, check out the doofus in the background flexing in the mirror!" That would be me. Alas, that was the very time that I was finally discovering the cause of the bizarre month-and-a-half-long weakness on my right side. I have a near-complete atrophy of the triceps long-head of my right arm. I know this because I just discovered it, by comparing my two arms in the mirror, by flexing. While I was on video.

I can take the mockery. My ego, if not my right triceps long-head, is big enough to accommodate such pettiness. What I have a real problem with is that the fellow who uploaded the video gave the full names of the two guys who were rolling, and the precise location. There are issues of privacy. More than he can imagine. I devised a means to send him an email, telling him that if there was a way to remove the names and location, he needed to do that. I don't know if it is possible. My ego is too big to bother itself with such minutia. I hope there's a way, though. It's a real screw up. Well, he's young, and he meant no harm. That has to be enough of an excuse.

My arm? I have no idea. It's the first time my body has betrayed me. Another thing I can't trust. Now it's only my son, and my ego. I'll start some rehab weightlifting now. See if somethings just tore off, or if it'll come back. I'm getting old, it seems. Fortunately my ego will protect me from all the horrible things that such a catastrophe would otherwise mean. In fact, I think my ego will fix my arm. Ah, it feels better already. I'm beautiful. Quick! Get me a mirror! I need to flex!

Ah. Beautiful. So beautiful. So symmetrical.


J