A Midsummer Night's Frustration

"You're a big sack of stuff. I've tried everything, and either you don't get it or you simply take it too seriously. I swear, no one's gonna want to be around you if you keep this up." I have heard it for the umpteenth time, and for an equal sum, I briefly attempted to change and become more exciting. Someone with balls, someone who wasn't afraid to speak his mind without risking repercussions for going against the grain, just plain old different. What kind of person would that be? I mean, it would be awesome to have enough strength not to ask someone to help me with a set of ninety-five pound dumbbells in addition to having all that prestige and respect from the boss and being, well, a terrific fuck. Like a speeding anvil, it hit me: I needed the self-confidence since all of those attributes already existed within me. It was past time for them to do something drastic, like come out. And so it went:

"Dude," I called myself as I gazed through a foggy bathroom window, "you've got to realize that you're too passive and it is time to use those two shriveled-up raisins for more than late Saturday night pleasures and what have you. Get some aggression - without being an asshole!" How the hell I would accomplish this is beyond me; the last time this happened I ended up being Bubba's bitch in the county jail and that in itself is enough said. If Christi thinks that I really am dry and this is all I have aside from God Himself and my parents, would she still stay with me? I mean, I've gotten used to being private with my feelings and thoughts; unfortunately, when I do blow up, it is like those two planes that crashed into the World Trade Center several days ago.
Finally, I decided to buck traditional trends and become more fun - in Christi's eyes, anyway, but the dying desire to remain enslaved to the rote is what is preventing me from being closer to her.

I picked up my new cell phone and proceeded to speed dial her when she called my office phone. Fortunately, I was relatively near to it because I know how much she hates my voice mail to pick up and having to leave a message. 

"Hello? Tyler Jackson speaking, how may I help you?"
"Hey, what are you doing around seven-thirty tonight?"
Shocked, I could not tell her the truth and state finishing business and email the latest chapter of my compilation to Doubleday Press. Instead, I grabbed the PDA to clear my schedule for her. "Nothing much. I figured I would work on another chapter of my book, hit a couple of bars, drive about 110 down MLK, and call a few friends. But since you called, let's go for dinner down by the lake at that new restaurant and fishing. Or, there is also my new hobby: hang gliding. But we'll do it in the morning."
"That may float, but no thanks. Did Smiley put you up to this glamorous night of passion again?"
"No! I thought this up all by myself. When I woke up this morning, I said to myself, 'This is the beginning of the rest of your life. What if you die today? Then how would people remember you? For the way I died or how I lived and impacted the world? And so, I am doing the unexpected because I don't want to be remembered as dry and predictable. If I don't live life to the fullest, then I am cheating myself and those around me."