Functional Design

Yesterday, and days leading up to it, boredom pluck a new cord. In most circumstances, this deadening nothingness is satisfied with a void filling video game. However, two circumstantial differences crashed the party this week, the first of which has been feeding on maturation. The snarling beast of lonesome fantasy games barks all the louder as its snapping jaw enjoys a muting muzzle. Though they video games still suffice as a source of sweet entertainment, they fail now in their former mutinies of the mind.

The following alteration to the week bounces in unexpected, but more warmly welcomed than anyone could anticipate. Due to unusual activity in the electricity, the power cord to the Wii surged and burned. We held a memorial service the same day for close friends and family.
This bittersweet passing melted away all ability to easily waste away our lives. It was that very moment when I realized we'd need to be more creative in our attempts to waste our lives.

My aimless body scuffled around the house lifeless. Fast forward to today. Normal routine ensued: Awake, pour the cereal, stare at the wall, then spend 30 minutes deciding what will happen next. On occasion I chat online with a friend when she is awake.

Today, I decided to watch a movie. The Last of the Mohicans survived as almost the last movie I hadn't seen in the drawer. Not a disappointment. The adrenaline gushed within me to become a Mohican myself, to know nature and control my surroundings as one intimate with its Maker. I launched out the door to set my body to such form and control. But it left me with these thoughts.


As the sculpting and flexing muscles surged, so did my mind. Why is it that I succumb to this perceived need to work out, to sear my body into a machine that can stand up to the challenge? I have nothing in my daily life or even in a yearly life that requires such fitness. There is no need for the power of a strong arm hold whatever social countenances I desire. But as for practical purpose, I glean none.

My suspicion veers toward a residue of a once necessitated survival requisite. We were designed to subdue to the earth, no? I fear that our current interpretation of such a command hits slightly outside the intended red dot. Why do athletes train now? To engage in less dangerous forms of "battle" where risks remain low and assurance finds a home. It is a remnant of what we used to do, how we used to conquer, a necessity for food and survival. Now, a structured body lives in the cage of social appearance and entertainment value.

I want to work out, but the desire slowly ceases. I lift only as a means of feeling good and "healthy" living. It all seems a bit more lackluster now.