Hell no! I won't...

Every morning when I can fit it in, I exercise for 30-40 minutes, dancing to RAM-Killing In The Name: "Do what they tell you," pounds into my brain. My body responds, revving up. The heavy beat of the music drives me to dance, to gyrate and to shadow box. I resists: I lash back. I move, I vibrate, topping up my own rage: "No, I will not DO what THEY tell ME ..."

By the time I hit the weights, 72lbs in each hand, I’m sweating, but have full rage on. I snap off the count, on a good day to 30 reps, gritting my teeth, straight up, then down, sideways, alternate laterals. You would think that I would burn up the fury--but No, the base conspires with the drums to drive me higher still. The lyrics delivered in staccato rhythm of a machine gun bursts, come screaming at me, bouncing off me. My muscles are tight, burning. My face a mask of clenched fury as I ricochet and feed off the pulse of the anger of the song.

When finished, I’m not tired at all. I’m ready to slam through doors, burst through the walls. I’m fuelled by an overcharge of emotions, burning with an accelerant like gasoline. My ODD (Oppositional Defiant Disorder) won’t let me go. "Hell NO! I won’t do as They tell me..."

Often, I have to, in this state, face the day. Watch out world, I’m coming through.

On the weekends I have time to switch to Tristania and decompress, let the fires burn out, cool down. I sometimes tell myself I have to chose a more pro-social song to exercise to, but I need the anger to face the repetition and mindless effort. Either that or take steroids... Hell no! I won’t...