Another of Matt's Amazing Writing Pieces

Pet Peeves

I like to think that I am a rational and sane human being. In fact I pride myself on that fact and I understand that even if I had some sort of irrational or illogical behavior, I would be able to identify it and give a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why said behavior was rational. I suppose I’ve already admitted to being an irrational person since trying to rationalize something that’s irrational is absurd. It must just be society that’s irrational, not me! So in that vein, I have decided to examine one of my biggest pet peeves: people taking the elevator to go up or down less than four floors, especially if they are a fat person. It’s a very common, acceptable and rational behavior, but it makes me cringe in unbelief and disgust.

Before examining the cause of my pet peeve and the effect it has on me, I wanted to define what a pet peeve is. A pet peeve could be described as anything that annoys, frustrates, or otherwise bothers someone into becoming upset. But what really makes a pet peeve stand apart from any garden variety general annoyance is that the subject of a pet peeve bothers me a lot more then it bothers you. You and the rest of society may not even think twice about it, but it disturbs me to the core. Does this make me irrational and a hate-monger? I think not, I may just be more sensitive to certain actions or behaviors due to traumatic early childhood experiences or certain prejudices, preconceived notions or even self-loathing because perhaps I can see a trait in another person that I posses and detest, thus giving me a reason to treat that person or that action with abhorrence. This is what makes a pet peeve special. It’s the personal, emotional connection with the action that makes it so much more poignant.

I’m overweight and I’m lazy. I believe I would be described as a semi-sedentary individual. I usually spend my free time sitting around watching TV or getting on the computer or doing something else that requires only my mind and sometimes not even that. I do know how to exercise though; I’ve read many books and articles on how to be an incredibly fit individual. I know how to get muscles like Arnold Schwarzenegger and obtain Bruce Lee-like flexibility and speed. The problem is, is that I only make the brain to body connection about once in every ten days. I’m only forty to fifty pounds overweight so it’s not like I’m a candidate for The Biggest Loser or even that I’m all that unhealthy, it’s just that in my mind it’s much more than fifty pounds. In my mind it’s a massive character flaw. You see, mentally, I know how to be an elite athlete and how to sculpt a rock-hard chiseled midsection. But physically I have failed to convert my knowledge into action, and because of that I feel bitter. I feel like I have failed to live up to my potential be it realistic or not.

Now I make a point of taking the stairs whenever possible. I’ll run up those bad boys like I own them. It’s liberating, I’m relying on nothing but my own body to speed myself toward my objective and I take pride in that. So when I see someone standing there, waiting for the elevator, ready to surrender away their freedom without hesitation just so that the elevator can carry them like an infant up a few floors, I know that I’m better than that person. It’s disgusting really, that someone would give up their God-given independence and vitality for that sarcophagus of weakness and apathy and corpulence. Taking the elevator or the stairs is the great social divide between a vigorous and vivacious person and a fat and flabby one. This is one of the rare social opportunities where you can make a statement and show everyone around you what kind of an individual you are. It doesn’t matter what you look like or who you are, you can prove that you have what it takes to be the best of the best just by travelling that stairway all the way to your own private heaven.

Or at least that’s the way I see it. I’m sure there are situations in all our lives where we see some things differently than everyone else does, and it usually stems from our own personal experiences and expectations. In my case, I feel bitter about my inaction when it comes to getting myself in shape and realizing the full extent of my physical potential. Because I have so much knowledge on the subject, I have built an image in my mind as to what I should be, or could be, if I physically applied the precepts that I have learned through my vast study. This is the personality that I often times project to other people. From the outside it is obviously hypocritical, but from the inside it has some merit: I firmly believe that that’s who I will become, but I’m just not there yet.

Ultimately my self-esteem issues cause me to judge others the same way that I judge myself. In my perfect world I would never be lazy or look for the easy way out. I would always be physically active and it would feel great. Just as I would be upset with myself for taking the elevator, I am bothered by others who choose to take it as well. Not because they are inferior people, but because I feel that I’m inferior. So the next time you judge someone, take the time to consider if it’s really them, or if it’s just you.

Matthew Green

Matt's Narrative- his hidden talent- a must read!!

So Matt is taking this English class, I love literature, he's not that interested. Last week he let me do his homework, I got to read some narrative essays and answer questions about them, I loved it and shared things that I read with him. ps:its not cheating when a wife helps her husband. For this class Matt had to write his own narrative. He let me read it: surprisingly enough, he's very private. But it was amazing. I had NO IDEA that Matt was such a great writer. I CANNOT believe that Matt has so much talent that I never knew of. I know he's incredibly smart, so much that he breezed through school as a kid but this really is great. Enough said, after some convincing, Matt finally allowed me to share this story with you. Maybe because I'm his wife, or maybe because I am the worst writer in the universe and can only enjoy great literature, never write my own that to me this seems so great- you be the judge.

Matt's Narrative

As a child I always knew that I could be part of the cool crowd if I wanted to be. In my mind there was a spot reserved for me right next to the best the school had to offer. I just wasn’t up to claiming it. I was very intelligent as a child and felt as if I could quickly come to an understanding of most concepts taught in school without needing to study them. I also understood what the cool and socially acceptable thing to do was. This common sense or ability to pick up on things quickly, paved the way to a lack of study skills and to poor grades due to incomplete homework and a general sense of apathy on my part. What played a greater part in my academic and social shortcomings was that emotionally I was much more melancholy, introverted, or often downright depressed when compared to the average child in sixth grade. Having just lived through the divorce of my parents and remarriage of my mother, with whom I lived, to an apparently random man who I didn’t particularly care for or know about, I was an emotional train wreck. I was miserable, and the way I saw it was that all that was needed to pull me out of my depression was the attention and adoration of my peers at school. I had a yearning to be accepted and loved, and since that wasn’t going to happen in my home I sought it out elsewhere.

Now, despite my social shortcomings, I was one of the kids that understood what toys and trinkets would be cool before everyone else did, and I appreciated the often overlooked subtle intricacies that made the toys really fantastic. While most kids played with a new toy for a few weeks or even months, eventually they became bored and felt compelled to move on to the newest, shiniest, ‘must have’ toy. I was not this way. Give me a toy and I would exploit it to its fullest, using it in every way that it could be used. But as noted, playing with an old toy or liking last season’s cartoons wasn’t what got you in with the cool crowd. As this was my new goal, I was prepared to set aside my old ways and embrace whatever would give me a presence and gain me attention with the cool kids. This wasn’t coming easy, as every day I would go to school and be depressed and unhappy and lack the hope of a better life. But one day to my elation, I found it, I found what would bring me the supposed true happiness and adoration that I so wanted.

Comic book playing cards. The moment I saw them I was in love for the first time in my young life. They were shiny and bright, fresh and unique; they were wonderfully monstrous in all their twisted glory. Spiderman, Venom, Carnage, the Incredible Hulk, they were all there, along with seemingly hundreds that I had not even heard a whisper of. I could hold them in my hand, pass them around, trade them, and show others the amazing gems that I possessed. If I had some of these they would surely propel me to the status that I knew was rightfully mine, and would pull me out of depression and finally make my life right. Big problem though, I had very little money and they were expensive! The rarest and coolest ones, the ones that would gain me the most notoriety, were ten, twenty, even fifty dollars at the local card store. This was demoralizing at best and devastating at worst.

The coolest kid in my class had heaps of cards; his backpack was nearly full of them. I was longing to be a child of his stature, but there was absolutely no possible way that I could achieve this, not with all the coins from the forgotten depths of all the couches on my block. In my desperation I was driven to do something that was not at all part of my nature. I suppose this is not a complete surprise because after all, I was trying to become someone who I was not, by whatever means necessary. So while all our backpacks were unattended, I delicately unzipped his backpack and transferred a large handful of recognition and esteem into my bag. Little did I know that I would gain something much more valuable than the promise of the shallow recognition of my peers.

I went home and laid out my plunder over my bed and admired all my ill-gotten goods. I felt like there was hope of gaining what I wanted. That is until I went to school the next day and the teacher asked if anyone knew anything about some stolen cards. My moral was shattered and instantly I knew that I had done something wrong and that my false hopes would not be realized. The shame was too great and I could not admit to the wrongdoing, that would have left me even more distraught than before, and I could not face that! That night at home while suffering from the shame and hopelessness, I had a moment of epiphany. I realized that the only way to recover from my depression and become the person I wished to be, was to simply embrace who I really was. I didn’t need false adoration or a disingenuous band of friends to give me true fulfillment in life. I just needed some self respect. I learned a lot that day.

As my atonement I snuck out of my house that night, cards in hand, and scattered them on the sidewalk in front of the school. As the cards flew from my hands I felt the self imposed pressure to be someone who I wasn’t diffuse into nothing. I felt a burden lifted, and although the situation was not handled in an appropriate, lawful manner, my eleven year old mind felt as if it had done the right thing, and that was what mattered. As I walked to school the next morning, feeling liberated from the night before, I saw the other children quickly and gleefully harvesting the apparent mana from heaven in a state of elation. That was an event that had never happened before and will never ever happen again. I looked at them and confidently walked past. I didn’t need the cards. I didn’t need the pleasure that they promised. I had embraced the simple yet eternal contentment of being my own person and in that I found the elusive joy that I had been seeking.

_______So that is Matt's story. I completely enjoyed this small window into his life. Isn't he just so funny? I know he may not have confessed to his crime, but in his defense he didn't have much of an upbringing, as he alluded to in the story. I really thought some of his phrasings were clever and the way he introduced these different topics yet tied them all together in the end was brilliant. I may be biased, hehe.
lov