What Did I Just Do…

“Shallow men believe in luck or in circumstance. Strong men believe in cause and effect.”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

I spent several years riding the school bus to and from school or if you must know from sixth through ninth grade.

Every year the drivers changed and every year the mix of students changed. Sometimes they drivers were fun and sometimes they were grumpy.

It would be unfair to label the students in the same precise manner but there were years when we got other students who could be less enjoyable to be around.

During my eighth grade year we were gifted with a boy named Bryce who was a junior and far larger than myself.

Bryce had a big personality and you always knew when he was on the bus but most of the time we didn’t mind because he didn’t mistreat us.

But there came a time when he started to carry a squirt gun and we were gifted with being squirted in the face.

Being of sound mind and body and the knowledge that it didn’t matter if he was two feet taller and 100 pounds heavier I told him to stop but he chose not to.

So the next day as I exited the bus I turned and shot Bryce in the face two or three times with my own squirt gun.

I still remember seeing the driver laugh as she closed the door in his face ensuring that I escaped…that day.

What Did I Just Do…

I don’t remember what my sister said to me when she saw me jump from the top of the stairs or if she said anything.

But I remember asking myself if it was smart to go after a guy who wouldn’t have to go looking for me because I was going to ride the bus to and from school.

And I remember my friend B saying he was certain I could outrun Bryce but not sure if I could kick his ass.

“Maybe if he sees you aren’t afraid of him he’ll leave you alone. Better try to avoid him or kick him in the balls as hard as you can.”

That was solid advice for that particular time of life but it is not necessarily something I could share today because a squirt gun today would undoubtedly lead to expulsion.

Hell, the multiple fist fights I had during my school years would probably do the same, but that was then and this is now.

Anyhoo, the purpose of this post isn’t to walk you through my feats of derring do and bravery because you would be bored or perhaps horrified.

No, this is to say that I did something earlier that gave me that same feeling of what the hell did I just do.

It wasn’t done as impulsively or without any thought or regard for the future, quite the opposite.

But it happened quite quickly and given the speed of the decision to do as I did I feel a little vulnerable and uncertain.

Cue Bruce and roll tape.

Three Years Of Fighting The Hydra

Look Wilner is using another fight analogy to tell a story, hasn’t he recognized we’re bored with them?

No, he hasn’t because he isn’t paying attention to that because for three years he has been busy fighting a fucking Hydra and every time he cuts off one head two more spring up in place of the original.

Tried to make like Hercules and attempted to cauterize the neck so new melons didn’t grow in place of the others but haven’t been as successful as I would like to be.

If I was smarter I would buy a flame thrower or a drone with a flame thrower and that would make the job easier but what fun would that be.

So I take my broad sword and use it to make the Ginsu knife look weak and worthless.

Thing is I am tired of the battle and the not being 25 years old anymore is catching up with me. I can’t swing with reckless abandon and not pay a price anymore.

That is a big part of why I made the decision to try and mix things up and moved on it as quickly as I did.

There is only so much heartache my tiny black heart can take anyway, so now we are going to see if I manage to rope the moon.

Cue Layla and move to the piano playing around the 4 minute mark or so.

Or better yet join Mr. Dylan and let go.

Either way, the die is cast and the bird has flown the cage. Now we wait to see if we have found a real solution to something that will provide fewer nights in which I feel like I have to wash off the grief of the day.