Sunday, Jul. 06, 2003 - 1:28 p.m.

6:30 a.m. Walking with the pups I find my mind racing every which way from wanting to try a McDonald�s McVeggie to wondering if a Lean Pocket is actually diet food to trying to solve the crisis of what color T-shirt to wear today.

6:40 a.m. Unfortunately, my mind stumbles over a thought not casually dismissed or easily distracted from by simply spying something shiny, catching a glimpse of my love-handles in the refection of a car window or tripping over a blade of grass causing a chain reaction ending in a torturous back spasm reminding me that my youth is long long gone. What my mind would not allow recovery from is my undeniable over-usage of the phase, "Ready? I�m Ninja ready!"

6:45 a.m. What may seem elementary to others is not always incomplex to me. As a self-coined self-diagnosed longtime sufferer of Post-Traumatic Embarrassment Disorder (and or syndrome) I have learned, if avoidable, not to begin the rumination process of mentally flogging myself with a Roman cat-o�-nine-tails made up of if only�s, what ifs, shoulda-coulda-wouldas, and other ego diminishing esteem destroying self-ridiculing techniques embedded in the tips of it�s heavy leather straps. I have brilliantly designed the caning to get enough confessions and secrets to feed the continuing of the scourging until an exorbitant number of lashes finally exposes the hateful truth that is me and I am raw, vital organs revealed, allowing myself to die over a few minutes from pain shock embarrassment.

6:50 a.m. As I begin my downward spiral by repeating, "Ready? I�m Ninja ready!" over and over again I am reminded of 4th grade, in a eagerness to be selected, calling my teacher "Mommy," of 6th grade being tickled to the point of wetting my pants, the freshman showers, getting fired from a lawn mowing job, wearing one black and one brown sock to my first day at work, flirting with spinach in my teeth, my fly being down, having a zit on the end of my nose, being singled out, dropping a venti decaf drip in the middle of a crowded Starbucks, unable to pronounce "corroborated" and the thousands of other stupid little nothings I let demean and define me.

7:00 a.m. Unable to take one more negative thought I scream, "STOP IT!" Spying something shiny I�m jolted back to sanity to find the dogs staring at me and hearing a distant neighbor scream "Shut up." Why do I give a shit? So what if I say I�m "Ninja ready" the truth is most times I am. Is it bad to be Ninja ready? No. Is it wrong to be Ninja ready? I think not. Is it stupid or silly or inane or nerdy or laughable or faggy? Maybe, but what if it is? It�s part of who I am and to quote Miss Xtina: "I am beautiful in every single way�" and further to quote Sheryl Crow: "If it makes you happy it can�t be so bad."

7:05 a.m. Almost home I�m back wondering what the difference is between a Hot Pocket and a Lean Pocket and have come to the conclusion that the taste of a McVeggie best remain a mystery to me.

7:15 a.m. Finally back inside my apartment I decide I�m wearing a blue T-shirt today, dammit!

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