Lazy Mastery
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by The_Just_Writer
A couch.
That's all that exists in the world of Patrick Creasmen.
There's other things: food, television, and sleep, yet nothing seems to come to together until he sits down, and just....
The thought never comes. This often happens to Patrick. It builds, as synapses fire back through his cranium, developing to a point of climax that fades just as it sparks. This is Patrick's life.
"What up, fatty?"
Travis enters. He doesn't knock. That would be pointless. It would never get him inside.
"Sup?" Patrick holds the p as Travis walks up to him. Travis stares at orange dust that trails from his mouth. It distracts him. "I was going to clean it, but you know..."
"Yeah, I know."
Travis takes a chair, flips it around to sit in it backwards. If he were wearing a baseball cap, it would spin it backwards, making his complete caricature of a cool high school complete.
"What did you do today?"
"You know..."
"Yes, yes. I know. I'm just checking up on you. That hurricane was bad. I was surprised you apartment is...well, still here."
"Yeah, I prepped really well."
Travis waits for the joke to finish, but Patrick doesn't commit to the punchline. If you think of this from another angle, it would be assumed that Patrick's humor is dry. It isn't- he simply didn't feel like finishing it.
"..."
"Well, it's time to start your rehab."
"Hmm..."
Travis helps Patrick up, guiding him as Patrick leans all his weight until his shoulder. They limp together to the trendmill that Travis dropped off a month ago. Travis wipes off the dust from the console.
"You know, I'm going to start coming daily."
"Daily? You got that kind of time."
"Yes."
"Guess that client list has been getting kinda short."
"Yeah, they've all recovered."
Travis watches Patrick for a few minutes. He would like him to start jogging by next month, , but he has regressed. He relied too much on Patrick keeping up with the exercises. It was a silly mistake. He underestimated the willingness to start moving on his feet again. After the accident, his will to stay on his feet has been terrible.
"You're doing great, keep moving."
Each step is labored. The trail is set to .5, and Travis cringes at memory of last week, with them starting on 1 and Patrick tumbling to the ground. Travis never had a client fall on him before. Travis refused to get on the treadmill for the rest of the week.
Travis hits the stop button.
"No more, not this week." Travis says, wheezing through deep breaths.
"But we just got started."
"We'll do more later, just now...I just need to rest."
He has to respect his wishes. It wasn't his favorite part of the program he's worked with for so long. It was a clause he laughed at for a long time, and was able to work around them for the most part.
Patrick finally met his match.
by The_Just_Writer
A couch.
That's all that exists in the world of Patrick Creasmen.
There's other things: food, television, and sleep, yet nothing seems to come to together until he sits down, and just....
The thought never comes. This often happens to Patrick. It builds, as synapses fire back through his cranium, developing to a point of climax that fades just as it sparks. This is Patrick's life.
"What up, fatty?"
Travis enters. He doesn't knock. That would be pointless. It would never get him inside.
"Sup?" Patrick holds the p as Travis walks up to him. Travis stares at orange dust that trails from his mouth. It distracts him. "I was going to clean it, but you know..."
"Yeah, I know."
Travis takes a chair, flips it around to sit in it backwards. If he were wearing a baseball cap, it would spin it backwards, making his complete caricature of a cool high school complete.
"What did you do today?"
"You know..."
"Yes, yes. I know. I'm just checking up on you. That hurricane was bad. I was surprised you apartment is...well, still here."
"Yeah, I prepped really well."
Travis waits for the joke to finish, but Patrick doesn't commit to the punchline. If you think of this from another angle, it would be assumed that Patrick's humor is dry. It isn't- he simply didn't feel like finishing it.
"..."
"Well, it's time to start your rehab."
"Hmm..."
Travis helps Patrick up, guiding him as Patrick leans all his weight until his shoulder. They limp together to the trendmill that Travis dropped off a month ago. Travis wipes off the dust from the console.
"You know, I'm going to start coming daily."
"Daily? You got that kind of time."
"Yes."
"Guess that client list has been getting kinda short."
"Yeah, they've all recovered."
Travis watches Patrick for a few minutes. He would like him to start jogging by next month, , but he has regressed. He relied too much on Patrick keeping up with the exercises. It was a silly mistake. He underestimated the willingness to start moving on his feet again. After the accident, his will to stay on his feet has been terrible.
"You're doing great, keep moving."
Each step is labored. The trail is set to .5, and Travis cringes at memory of last week, with them starting on 1 and Patrick tumbling to the ground. Travis never had a client fall on him before. Travis refused to get on the treadmill for the rest of the week.
Travis hits the stop button.
"No more, not this week." Travis says, wheezing through deep breaths.
"But we just got started."
"We'll do more later, just now...I just need to rest."
He has to respect his wishes. It wasn't his favorite part of the program he's worked with for so long. It was a clause he laughed at for a long time, and was able to work around them for the most part.
Patrick finally met his match.
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