Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Vicious hunting

I don't particularly like the reasoning that in all of us, there is a hunter gene. We're all aching to hunt down our prey, and either death-roll it (a la crocodile, which really is admirable. Spasms leading to death is how it should be), or leave it in our web for later. This dislike is probably just because I am neither particularly athletic, nor willing to hunt out anything beyond shoes, but still, it stands that I don't like the reasoning.

The biggest spots of 'hunting' I've ever done have involved chasing. And not generally with an outcome that's pleasant:
  • Chasing my dog, Inca, after she's run away (and left Tuscany sitting pathetically on the driveway because she, too, shares my idea about running). Dog is captured with many shouts in anger, and my shame only amplifying this as I've generally forgtten the leash and now I have to carry this stupid Golden Retriever home. Who at this stage has more often than not, found a pool then found a construction site and thus is covered in mud.
  • Chasing after a 3-legged lamb to give it cuddles. This involved me in a pen that probably was the size of the average living room/kitchen combo, racing after this lamb. With three legs. Who I couldn't catch. Even when I tried to be tricky I did it at the pace of a glacier, and the lamb, moving at its normal and accepted speed, fled. Lamb was never captured, and in my attempt to vault the fence dramatically I cut my leg and got a splinter. So the fist-shaking, "I'M GONNA GET YOU SUCKA" was not very emphatic.
  • Chasing after someone in a game of Capture the Flag, or something equally ridiculous. Game went as so: I saw one person getting far too close to our side. I sprang off from the line with thoughts of the admiration I'd receive at such an accomplishment - the unfit, slightly overweight girl (at that time, I'm good now but still no less fit) capturing the athletic guy and saving the day. That's when I can't remember anything. I can't remember anything. Can't remember anything.... and then the memory comes back with someone sitting in front of me, asking if I knew where/who I was. I responded snarkily as I had no idea why I was in agony. "She's herself, Jared. She's fine." Anywho, then Trina gasped, "YOU HAVE A NOSE BLEED!" I got very excited about this, and promptly fainted. When I got home, I had blood on my face, a very big and puffy upper lip, and after weeping softly to myself in the corner of the living room because my family was mocking me, I trailed from room to room, feeling rather regal in my purple, cat-spotted dressing gown, talking about complete and utter idiocy that I believed was crucial at the time.
Even sushi-trains, I can't work out. This is where Kathryn satisfies her so-called hunter longings, and with skill and finesse, both captures and devours her prey. I sit there lamely, eyeing off dishes from across the other side, which people take. Kathryn eventually gets so ashamed at my rumbling tummy, she just goes around the other side, grabs the three dishes I'm trying to get my hands on, and lets me sit eating chicken chippies and tempura prawns. In a sushi restaurant.

Mainly, the reason why I'm considering this is because today - 4 minutes ago - I had to brave that cruel cruel world of class-scheduling for Semester 2 uni. I had it all sorted out - I'd work my butt off at night on writing concepts and creativity, then work during the day, while having 4 days solid to do this (or, until I found a job, I'd sleep, write and knit like a crazy spinster). But others have ideas too. Those may be similar to mine, or they'd end up being, "No, I wanna go out at night and go clubbin', cause dat be where my bros' at." Channelling You Got Served aside, I was forced to do something that I'd not done. Hunt.

And with great skill and finesse, I got the classes that finish at 9pm, start at around 4pm, and don't exist on Thursday to Sunday.

Winning at life may not come often, but I think I just did.

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