Chapter two

Have you ever brought your head up from your normal plodding daily step as a horse harnessed to a plow and looked around accidentally? We're not supposed to do it, but when we do we recognize the absurdity of the situation. Weaker men than us have chained us to the machine in order to make more money for them. In much the same way do relationships work. Yesterday i realized again i have often been the strong shoulder for others to lean on, yet when i need the same there's no one around. Perhaps there is but i don't recognize them as such. Therefore, in times of need or stress, like always before, i turn to writing as a pressure relief valve. I've always felt i had a story to tell, but no way to fictionalize it and no way to tell the facts that would be of any interest. All I've done is ramble around, try to escape my inner demons and have a good time. I've done all three of those quite well. Even now, one of my favorite things in the world to do is drive around aimlessly with no direction other than ending up at home before i pass out. No high speed, no strong liquor, no particular place to go. Just going, and looking. I also enjoy having a task to achieve, especially if it doesn't require an inordinate amount of time. I don't think anyone will particularly enjoy reading my story because i didn't accomplish anything amazing or overcome any major shortcoming. All i did was live my life as i saw fit, doing what i wanted when i wanted to do it as much as possible. That's not much different from anyone else i don't think. Maybe what i did is a little different but it's not spectacular, at least by my estimation, but then again i was there.

Chapter One

We didn't have television so i grew up either entertaining myself with books or wandering around outside. I still spend most of my time looking around thinking "That's interesting" and moving along, never really investigating anything in depth but certainly kicking around in the leaves a bit.
My favorite author as a boy was Louis L'Amour. He wrote the same story repeatedly buy he was good at it. I grew especially enthralled with the brief biography on the rear cover of his books and accidentally mirrored in my own life. I didn't set out with any specific plan or goal, just a general desire to go somewhere i hadn't been and see some new things. Bruce Springsteen days there are two kinds of people, goers and stayers. I successfully avoided sedentary life for ten years after being awarded my freedom and have now surrendered to the inevitable. A vast majority of people stay the income bracket they were born into, and i believe the same holds true across all aspects of life. I'm raising a family, working a menial job, and trudging along just as hundreds of years of my ancestors did. It's acceptable given the history, yet completely terrible to reflect upon.

Missing Person

Last seen 5/26/2014

Hard to say when I was last seen in whole. Before Labor Day, 1994 I'd guess. I had a good childhood, a proper upbringing, enough religion to make me good, enough good family to make me secure. I'm not bad but I am missing. I'm a missing person. I look West and see mountains, north and see pine trees, south the Gulf and East, well the Massachusetts shore, or the Shenandoah Valley if I look southwest. I see almost every major interstate system. I catch glimpses of people, places, old buildings, gas stations in the middle of the night, living rooms, rooftops, and barrooms, lots of barrooms. But when I look up, or back, or inwards, I see all the people forgotten, lost, dead or missing. They're still here. I feel them, hear them, wonder what they're doing or what they would be doing. People told me things would get easier after a sudden loss. The pain is just as sharp, I've just developed some way to ignore it, not feel it, focus on other things. It sneaks up on me at the most random times like a brick to the skull and I have to fight back tears. I've been stolen from, by life, and I can't replace the faces after they're gone.

Daydreams get away

A quick daydream about sitting by a campfire reminded me of how the Sun looks when it just hits the top of Dallas divide. That somehow triggered a memory of driving to the trailhead of the Blue Lakes Trail. There were some hikers on the road with their fancy sticks and expensive boots that looks rather perturbed as I drove by in my old pickup truck. I had to laugh  as the random trash in the back bounced forward and backward as we went up and down the hills on the trail. That then reminded me of watching the rain storms backed up in Red Canyon or the snow storms slowly rolling down the valley toward Hell Creek. Of course snowstorms reminded me of roustabouting and watching the rig hands put up tarps as the snow came in sideways at 30 miles an hour. Also hard to forget are the late nights pumping water for the frack tanks. The valves on the semis had a tendency to freeze so sometimes we had to torch them open and then when they would blow out the water to clear the valve the area in front of the tanks would turn into a skating rink. It's interesting how easy it is to remember all the sights and sounds and details especially when it just comes from a line in a song. It makes me want to get in the car and go down the highway, not necessarily to get anywhere, just to feel again the motion of going. Even though staying put seems natural you can never quite shake the ghost of a life on the move. Sometimes you have to feed the demon in whichever little way you can.

Perception of place

You do realize you're in charge of your emotions right? I've been telling my coworkers this for a year now and I just heard Ronda Rousey say it in a two year old interview. You get to pick your emotions! You get to pick who has the power to affect your mood! It's not hard! While I'm on the stump, here are a couple more concepts:

1) "Can't" is a four letter word. I don't use it anymore except for example. Can't is a cop out for pussies lacking the intestinal fortitude to achieve at a higher level.

2) the concept of not having time is horseshit. You are in charge of every minute of your day. You choose your priorities and good you use your time, but you do have time.

John Hartup taught me in fifth grade I can do whatever I want to, I just have to realize there are consequences for everything.

I choose whose opinion I care about. This is a tactic I have recently developed that helps a lot. I was raised to be concerned with others opinions of me but lately I've discovered how freeing it is to say "Your opinion of me is of no importance."

I have also figured out that most of the time someone is grumpy with me or toward me it has little to do with me and almost everything to do with them. This helps me separate my actions and reactions from their personal situation.

I don't form opinions on many things that don't matter. As I discussed there are a finite amount of moments in the day, and I'm judicial about what I spend time thinking about. Along the same vein, many things can exist without me forming an opinion on the spot. I guess that's just called but giving a hoot.

I'm not saying these are good or productive ways to approach life or that in some kind of genius, but they have worked for me. Perhaps it'll start a train of thought that could be useful to you, I hope so!

Living mystery novels

I used to read a lot. Growing up, we didn't have television. We didn't live in town either, I grew up in the middle of dirty acres of woods. If you wanted entertainment you read a book, played a card or board game, or went outside and amused yourself any way you could. My two favorite authors were Louis L'Amour and, later, Clive Cussler. Both men wrote basically the same story-one man with a strong sense of morality that wins in the end against all odds, but does it quietly and with dignity. This man knows his ability but doesn't flaunt it, and rises to any challenge put before him.
Now, let's talk about old trucks. They're mystery novels. They have secrets both good and bad. These secrets aren't usually told outright, you have to dig and scratch to discover the true identity of the truck. You can see the trails of the previous owner, discover clues to the sort of life it lived, as you move around on your hunt for clues. I just traded away two old trucks. They had very different lives. I knew nothing of their history before they arrived at my house but when they left I knew a bit more. I may have made some money on the trade, I'm not sure. It's always a gamble. The real value, the true essence of the operation, is not the money made. I do have two reasons to make money but the real endeavor is the reading of the mystery novel. I'd rather live it than read it, and I do so each time I crawl under a new book.

Here's a direct chronology of a money trail:
1984 for f150. I'll spare you the redneck details or the importance or origin of the money, but it's important. Paid $2500. I know it's a lot but I told you I'd spare the details so just forget it and follow along.
Traded for 1989 Ford ranger. Better fuel mileage.
Trade for 1990 Jeep Cherokee. Tired of the five speed and needed a family vehicle, preferably four wheel drive. This truck quit running. Here's where it gets interesting. I spent a lot of money on that Jeep trying to resurrect it. We won't bother with all that. However, I learned a lot about those engines and basic diagnostics. Sold for 600. This is a strong loss.
Bought a ford pickup for 600. Put 200 in it, sold it for 900. Later found out it died a week later.
Bought a buck lesabre for 800. Spent 180 on it, sold it for 1800.
Bought two trucks for a total of 1300. Had 1600 in them and just traded for a truck and a four wheeler. Hopefully I can fix and sell these two for a total of $2500.

Now, if you had the choice to read a novel or live a mystery-solving hobby that increases your knowledge and grows your wallet, would you? I still don't have television and still don't need it.

Skype

I just did my first Skype last Friday and its still sticking with me a bit. The best reason I can come up with is it usually takes quite a bit of planning to see someone that lives twelve hours away and I prepare for it over the course of the travelling. The expectation and excitement of the build up culminate in the joy of seeing your friend after so much time apart. Skype, however, feels like the first person to hear someone's voice over a telephone. A long time ago a friend of mine suggested we Skype and I never acted on it but having just experienced it I most certainly think it could become addictive. It's the same old issue as ever though-my day starts at 345 and ends when I go to bed, around nine. In the meantime there's work, commuting, picking up Carson, dinner, dishes, and relaxing with my family for less than an hour, and then bed. There's no time to Skype, pursue hobbies, etc. I've always detested people saying they don't have time. You have time to do whatever you choose. However, my time is down to the nitty gritty, unless you want to Skype while I drive!