Moving Sideways Like an Octopus

I got up this morning.

I feel fat. My stomach hurts. I'm achy. I'm in a bad mood. What kind of dream did I have last night? Was I wrestling a bear? Feels like it. I was up pretty late last night, helping a friend configure a printer until like 3:00 in the morning. It reminded me of when I used to do direct PC repair and configuration for a living. It reminded me of the old days when I used to work. When I used to be solvent.

I'm not going to think of my past.

Well why? Why not talk about my past. It's probably better than my present. Why not tell you about my wife. When I first met her. What happened between us. Maybe it will explain my predicament. Maybe my past will help me with my planning for the future. Isn't the idea of the adage to learn from the errors of your past to keep from repeating them in the future?

I was a kid that ran around. I was always out on a date, always dating a new girl. Busy running around as if my pants were on fire, but I was actually looking for a wife. I was actually trying to build a future for myself at a very young age. I didn't get into college to study for a career, largely because my father didn't have the money. He had no house to put a second mortgage on. He was under the mistaken impression that colleges were passing around scholarships like AIDS. So I had to find my own way.

My sister, or a close friend of mine that I love like a sister, told me about one of her girlfriends who saw me in a wedding video and she was interested in me but would never come up to me in person to introduce herself. My sister looked at her and knew immediately that she was the one for me. My sister arranged a double date between her and her husband and us. When I met her, my ex wife, I kissed my sister. She had hit it on the nail on the head.

My ex and I was married six months later. This would prove to be a thirteen year marriage that would produce no children. Life was staid, without much life near the rocky end of the marriage. I quit my job and started my own company, which started off pretty good, but petered out due to the economic downturn of the country when Bush came into office. I resorted to the bottle more and more to cope and it was no doubt here where my mental problems began. I ran off my business partners and my ex.

The disin- tegration of my marriage, it's details is for another story, but I was soon alone when she took all of her shit and left. I went on a woman binge then. Banging them until I got tired, running around once more like my pants were on fire. My brother moved in at that time and basically every day was a party. First every weekend was a party. Then every morning was a party...because I worked at night...then every day and night was a party. Of course the job didn't agree with this and I was fired. Kicked out. Canned.

My money ran out and I couldn't pay rent so I left my apartment before the country sheriff could slap a new lock on my door. I had a moving company come and move me out and put all of my shit in storage. I put closely important things, like bills, clothes and court papers in the trunk of my car. I was going to plan to live out of my car, but I had run afoul of the law in my small town in New Jersey and to make another long story short, I was ran out of town, warned never to return.

That was alright. I still had money and my brother and I partied even harder, staying drunk during the day and sleeping in the Port Authority in New York at night. Soon my money ran out and the soup kitchen life became the lifestyle. The police became too familiar with me in Port Authority so I had to move on, that's how I found The Hotel. I settled down to life on the streets. It wasn't easy. I had to take my lumps but I've seen my years in the street, my year in the shelter system as a fire to purify the man. It burned off all of my stupidity. Made me more compassionate. Made me a much better man, although I may bitch and moan and talk about busting people over the head, I am not like that.

I have a mean streak but you'll never see it. I'm a lifelong pacifist. Just as a side point...why is the word FIST in pacifist?

So what have I learned from my past? That it's hard to wake up in the morning? That I was a stupid drunk in my past and not to repeat that shit now? I'm not learning much else from such a weird past. For someone who had such a head on his shoulders, I must seem pretty insane now. My mental condition might have deteriorated but I take pills for that now.

What about WECARE. Well, I blew them off again. That makes an entire week. I didn't check my mailbox but I doubt that they can mail an appointment and make it in two days. I'll check the box this evening. I also wrote Dr. A an email stating that I would not be able to make it in today. I was feeling a little out of sorts too. He wrote back saying that he was on vacation. Things seem to be falling into place for me.

Maybe that's the lesson to learn. Maybe those are my future actions. DO NOTHING. You have no control over your life at this time. Just chill and THINGS WILL FALL into place. Things that fall are many times uncontrolled. Unless you are a log around loggers. Or a building being demolished by explosives. Why don't I just fall down, and see if I fall into place? That would be something completely unexpected. Something that....

Whoa...what about a 'controlled fall'. Let WECARE cause me to kowtow, but don't kowtow like they want me to. How about that? That's a sideways move. Not forward, not backwards. Holy shit. I think I got a plan. I have to dwell on this one. I think I got the germ for something good here. I'm already on a course that will take me in a form of the direction that I want to go in. This has to be thought about a little further. I think I've got a plan. A CONTROLLED FALL.

Nothing like the beginning of a plan to make someone feel good. I need to go through some paperwork, straighten some paperwork, wait for the inevitable.

“Talent without discipline is like an octopus on roller skates. There's plenty of movement, but you never know if it's going to be forward, backwards, or sideways.” - H. Jackson Brown, Jr.

Just call me Mr. Octopus.

Hobobob