Never Really Asleep

A guy came to fight club for the first time, his ass was a wad of cookie dough. After a few weeks, he was carved out of wood.

- Edward Norton, Fight Club

His name is Julian. The new gym instructor. He has the friendliness and eagerness to help that typifies tenderfeet everywhere. And he looks like a ripped Mace Windu. We must cherish the little things.

Because he's new, and feels like aiding gym members as much as he possibly can, I got what effectively amounted to a free personal training session this past Tuesday. I love rookies. Especially Caboose.

He formulated an exercise routine for me to follow, but first he asked me what I wanted. Unfortunately he had never watched Buffy, so I couldn't tell him how badly I idolised Spike and wished to emulate him in every way. Except for attempted rape. Attempted rape is a very bad thing. I mean, SERIOUSLY, you're imbued with all the fel energies and raw power that goes with being undead, and you STILL get fended off by a squealing teenager? Your mother and I, we are so ashamed...

Then Julian mentioned how people come to gym and want to look like Brad Pitt in Fight Club. "Edward Norton," I interjected. "I want to look like Edward Norton from Fight Club."

After much laughter and merriment all round, Julian set me an exercise regimen and told me that, were I to eat properly as well, I could look like Norton in a year.

It was an altogether rather painful enterprise. Very painful. Exercise is supposed to hurt, but I went in today and another trainer (Julian's shift had not yet begun) said I had "severe muscle damage". Told me to do 10 minutes on the rowing machines to keep blood flowing through my arms, and then just work my legs. That's what I mean by "painful enterprise" - "severe muscle damage". But despite the hurt, I pushed through Tuesday's session because I had a goal, because I have a goal. I'm going to be Edward Norton from Fight Club.

Yesterday I went to sleep early. Having had little sleep the night before, I dropped onto my bed around 8:30 and instantly slipped away. I woke in the middle of the night because I was cold. It would seem my blanket had slipped off. I blearily opened my eyes and the dining room windows swam into view. My first thought was "this isn't my bedroom". My second thought was not an original. The voice of Edward Norton echoed through my mind, and I heard him:

If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?

The entire circumstance is especially mystifying when one takes into account that I have never, in my entire life, ended up somewhere without knowing how I'd gotten there. Well, I'm guessing I didn't quite understand the Great Miracle of Childbirth when I was a newborn, but you get my drift. I've never even been drunk, for the love of Christ.

There's only one plausible explanation of how I got to the loungeroom couch: in my sleep I must be doing things I can't remember when I wake, operating under a completely different persona.

And Julian thought it'd take me a year! Ha!