SHADOW BOXING
by tsdaly
6-1-2011

I woke up on my knees after punching the floor hard
with my fist.  It hurt.  I looked around for the asshole I’d
just punched, but he was off, into the murky night like a
too familiar phantom.  My knees hurt, my fist hurt, but
the soothing sounds of the rain and river washed over
me like a salve.  “I did it again”, I thought.
Seems he’d slipped away, as usual.  Slippery Bastard.  
I wondered why my hand wasn’t broken.  I never break
my hand.  Maybe I’m just not trying hard enough.  I
elbowed Kathy in the back as we slept once and didn’t
hurt her much either.  I’ve punched hard walls and
kicked ship-mates in the balls as they slipped past to
go take a piss off the deck.  It seems I’m more
dangerous asleep than awake, though some may
disagree.
Fritz Perls might say, “Be the other person, and what
do you see?”  I’d have to say, “A guy punching me hard
in the face in a dream.”  So far, trying that approach
has created no epiphany, at least in my
consciousness.  Am I missing something? If I could
remember more details perhaps I could be a
lampshade, a car tire, or a bartender and view those
violent, surreal, scenarios better from there: another
place I wouldn't want to be.  
After gathering my sheet around me and struggling
back to bed I released a bit of relaxing, happy, gas;  the
last of which turned to a wet dream.  
It was an un-restful night, on the whole.