strain, fabric and mental
2005-11-27 6:27 p.m.

Yesterday marks the third time in my life when I have ripped my pants.

however yesterday's pants-ripping was not due to outside forces (such as the chainlink fence outside the Rainbow hotel in Ocean City, Maryland) but interior forces.

Namely, my fat. I was honestly impressed by the spectacle. Yesterday I sat at someone's table after learning about three long rips along my inner thigh, running my hand over the holes. I thought, this is impressive. I have strained the fabric so much that it could no longer be held together. I am like the Hulk when he gets angry and grows large and his sheer bulk forces the clothes to rip off him.

Of course I am better than the Hulk, because the Hulk's pants never ripped off, and mine have.

And I absolutely refuse to engage in sex unless it is meaningful, because I absolutely refuse to allow anyone whom I cannot trust fully to see what has happened. They can read about it, yes, and I believe in the power of words, but a picture would do more. No one will see this until it has changed. That's that.

The pants are beyond repair-- I would need three patches or so, of significant length, and it would never look right. So maybe I will cut the pants apart, and frame the section of my right inner thigh, and put it on the wall.

Maybe not. I have enough shame within me. I don't need a reminder on the wall. If I've learned anything from this, it's that power comes from the inside. Shame comes from within, as does the power to change, and the power to rip fabric. Take that, chainlink fences of the world.

In strikingly contrasting news, my brother can run a 7-minute mile, and he does about 5 of these miles every day. From what I understand this is pretty good. So it's in the genes somewhere. Not the Jeans. I'm so clever it hurts. If cleverness were miles ran...