- Rocky Balboa
I just wanted to let you know I didn't hit the pinnacle of 600 days and then decide to do a free fall into barrel of whiskey. You weren't really worried, were you? You know me better than that, right?
I'm gearing up for work again this summer and I've worked myself into the same frazzled, second-guessing, downplaying my abilities, wrecking ball to the old self-confidence mode that I usually get into. I think I have post-traumatic stress syndrome from the old-school asshole surgeons that I trained with in my early days, you know, the ones that would throw sharp pointy instruments at you, if you made the mistake of handing them the wrong thing, or asking them the wrong question like, "Good Morning, how are you today?"
So the other night I couldn't sleep and I got up in the middle of the night to worry and fret and try to memorize the PDR, then about the time the sun was over the mountain ridge and the cap'n was getting up, I decided I was tired and was going back to bed. As I stretched out in bed, I hollered down to him from the loft, "This is kind of reminiscent of my old drinking days, isn't it? (I was notorious for getting up and drinking a bottle or two of wine at 2 am just to try and get back to sleep). Then I said, "You're probably looking under the couch for my wine glass, aren't you?"
And he said, "Nah, I know you."
Confidence restored. Isn't that a wonderful thing? The thing is, if he'd looked under the couch, he probably would have found a wine glass or two because it's probably been over 600 days since I cleaned under there.
Back to memorizing the PDR...