Why you should probably do it

Seriously people, just do it.

Because if you don’t you’ll keep wondering. Should I have? What if I had and it made me feel better? What if I inspired others? Then everyone would have done it. I’d be a pioneer. What if Abercrombie made a brand of what I was wearing when I did it and distributed it poor hungry kids in Nigeria — you know — with some food.

English: The image of Abercrombie & Fitch today.

But they’d have to starve to wear it (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The worst is not doing it, because someone else might do it if you wait too long. If they do, your doing it means nothing. Well, it might mean piracy or plagiarism, but who knows—that shit is hard to prove. And if they do it, you’ll have to find something else that you want to do but aren’t doing — something else to obsess over, a different cost-benefit analysis. That’s not easy. Then you’re still the same person, but with another thing you’ve almost done. Almost doing is like not doing, but you’re the annoying not-doer who keeps talking about that which he is going to do, which is cool, if your friends are like that guy in that movie whose mind was like an etch a sketch every fifteen minutes. (By the way, there’s this incredibly dirty and funny joke that I can’t enjoy because I know the punchline, but he can, again and again.)

Memento (film)

…and the farmer says…damn it, where’s my polaroid? (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

History is full of doers — the not-doers are eliminated for space-saving — and doers are full of history. Not-doers are full too, of other things. The best not-doer appears on the brink of doing all the time, without talking ad nauseam about it of course. Over time, the not-doers don’t reproduce, because that involves doing. So they’re weeded out. The doers remain. It takes a lot to be a not-doer. Doing ends up negating the not-doing. Depending on what you do, how much and with how much intensity, you can figure out how long you must not-do before convincingly appearing as a not-doer. Of course, appearing is doing, and that’s a conundrum.

Why would you not-do anyway? So you can plan more, think more, and maybe do it better later? But you won’t. Because you didn’t. Only you know why. None of those reasons will change. You’re not doing it better. You’re just better at not-doing, also you’re regaling people (not really) around campfires with stories of how good it’s gonna be when you finally do it — which it will be — it will be awesome. But you won’t do it. So it’s hypothetically awesome. Which is fine, but it takes a million hypothetical-awesomes to make an awesome. You can disagree with me on that, but to prove me wrong, you need calculations, which of course, involves doing. So you can never know, better trust me. If you can trust, without doing that is. When you do do, which you won’t, trust me, I hope you can…oh what’s the point? You’re never gonna do it.

Air Max 90 CL

They have the right idea (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m not saying you’re not equipped to do it. You probably are, who knows. Checking for qualifications requires me to do something. So I can’t know. Knowing involves doing, and doing what I need — to know — also needs doing. So I can never know if you can do. I’d like to give you the benefit of doubt, but that means I must do. In fact, even doubting is doing. So I can be certain. Being is not doing. Or it would have been “to do be or not to do be,” which let’s face it, (or not) is not quite as pithy.

Those who did things did them because they needed to be done. Now you’ll say that needing is doing too, but things can need. Things can’t do. So needing is not doing. QED. No I can’t translate that for you. You know why. But do you? Can you?

Kilimanjaro

He wiped his brow and frowned. This was going to be a long climb. His muscles had started to ache. This was more due to inaction than actual strain. Working whole days and some nights punching on a keyboard wiped his body by the end of his week. The weekends, when not working, were filled with mental fatigue and angry snappy remarks at good natured advice to slow things down. He looked up and calculated the number of paces he would need to take to reach his destination.

As was the norm whenever he felt any physical stress, he swore to start gymming. He needed to get in shape. He was the fittest of all the software engineers working on his side of the block, but that wasn’t really saying much. He was sweating profusely now. There are some climbs that one must undertake alone, he thought. Some battles that need to be fought alone, no matter what. Ever since the breakup, he constantly found himself subjecting his body to all kinds of punishment. He knew it was not his fault, but there was some culpability. He knew she did not love him, but he was still trying to get over her. The pain of loving someone with full confidence at no returns is unbearable and indescribable, and he needed physical, dull pain to counter it.

He was not a person given to suicidal thoughts, and this was no different situation. In fact, despite his situation, he knew he had a certain joi de vivre which prevented him from completely drowning in morose thoughts. His self-imposed tasks simply required more stamina, but his body simply refused almost as though his frequent pants and poohs were his body’s way of saying, “Are you kidding me!”

His legs were starting to burn now. Maybe she never loved him; maybe it was all an illusion to her. She probably thought she loved him a lot, but once the initial attraction faded, she simply saw the light. Too bad for him though, he knew where he stood during the whole time: he wanted to make a life with her, a life that would not happen now. Somehow, even though his disappointment was too much, he managed to understand that it was for the best. One can never forget one’s first love: that adage would be tested in time. For all he knew, she was having some trouble getting over him too.

He was so naïve, when he actually heard the four ugliest words in the Engligh language, “I wanna break up.” He contrasted them with the three ugliest words he had once heard, “I am pregnant.” It had turned out to be a false alarm, but his heart had skipped several successive beats. He remembered the stoic expression she had had on her face as she said it; as if probing him to see his most instinctive reaction to the news. In any case, she had gotten her period the next day, and both of them heaved a sigh of relief and doubled their protective measures.

He had to sit down now. This level of exertion was just not correct for a person of his poor fitness. He breathed heavily, with his heart pounding, and just collapsed on the ground. He swore, the next time the power went out, he would wait for it to return, instead of foolishly attempting to climb up to the 23rd floor.

Giving in

I opened the door and went in,

With a guilt inexplicable within;

To get something I knew I wanted

By giving in to temptations undaunted.

The old lady saw me and smiled.

She knew I vacillated a while,

Knew how much I resisted coming,

And yet she knew what was forthcoming.

There was a finality in her glance

As if she knew I had no chance

Of limiting myself, of tethering myself,

Or ever winning a debate with myself.

She had an expression of disapproval

As if, since last time, I’d grown a soul

And decided against this path again.

She would oblige me but with disdain.

I told her what I was looking for

She sent me to a corner unseen before

I went obediently and stood aside

To let hedonism and resistance collide

With a clear winner, as always

Favoring satisfaction over malaise

I took what I wanted, the heathen pleasure

I felt satisfaction beyond measure

During my vulgar enjoyment of my fill

(Must every desire we fulfill?)

When I was done I considered me

With utter revulsion and some pity

I had self-control and discipline

But, for this I knew I would give in

I exited the place with irritation

(This was of course an aberration)

I swore in life, I’ll do anything

But I’ll never go again to Burger King