302 days.
The new life fits just right. I snapped into a steady routine at the new job, cutting entertainment photos. The apartment now set up as a bare bones office. And a shaman of a roommate, slithering on with seduction and organic id impulses.
Our neighbor's bulldog was staying with us for the day and his big playful frame bounded around the apartment as Seth tossed him around, back and forth, his jaws clenched on the thick rope toy. I could see the fight bursting from the otherwise goofy and submissive canine.
I thought about my own tendencies to roll over, exposing my soft underbelly and how me and this dog needed some outlet for aggression. The fight had been domesticated out of me years ago and only upon writing these chapters do I feel that drive to compete, to best another, to have that hostility come forth through physical expression.
Afterwards, Gorby was the same old fun loving puppy. I was so sick of being that dopey dog that sought out affection from babying females that made me do tricks as I wiggled my butt at their heels. I needed a fight, an outlet at least, to make me feel more like a man.
I need that affection and attention from myself. And giving into to masculine aggression wasn't going to somehow taint me, turn me into this shitty asshole who screamed at sports games and started fights in bars. I could be the same goofball I always was, but when I need it that toughness would surface.
Just doing it, grunting and pulling with all my might, that is the experience I can draw upon when some fuckface starts a fight with me in a bar. I've got to get myself to the Kung fu school and learn to throw a punch, learn it's okay to throw a punch, then I can temper my pacifist patience with some good old fashioned violence.
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