Coming Back Strong

It has been raining for two straight days, but today it cleared up beautifully.

It sounds easy enough to come back strong after suffering a loss doesn’t it?

Try harder.

Don’t give up.

Don’t include me in the conversation. I have an unhealthy aversion to losing. I honestly don’t know where I picked up this foible, but I absolutely cannot stand even the thought of losing.

Not very realistic.

Three words the Domestic Despot uses to describe me.

I had never in my life so much as been turned down for a date before a girl broke up with me.

I mean, what possibly could be her problem to give me the boot?

I mean it was the early seventies, man.

A lot to be forgiven.

But there I was, cramped next to Sheila into a single bed crying my eyes out and wondering now what will I do?

Out of the blue she had informed me of her need to call it a day, so to speak. In the hallway stalked the Dorm Mother, ever-vigilant to ensure this all-girls facility remained so.

It was simply unfathomable to me that a girlfriend of mine could be any less than ecstatic to be alive.

Think that attitude might have been part of the problem?

When I was drinking (swilling) alcohol, I was really putting my body through the kind of stress that has produced the one-legged diabetic struggling for balance in my desk chair.

Like many alcoholics, I was keeping my job and career unaffected (or so I thought). So I was having to come back strong every day.

No wonder I am so fucked up today.

I have lived a long life in terms of experiences, and they have included, like all of us, highs and lows that have shaped my Journey.

I definitely had to come back strong after Matt LeMay popped me in the chops on the playground at lunchtime. The year was 1960 and I was messing around with Matt and I kept tripping him when he tried walking.

Matt would apologize every time, as if it was his fault.

I don’t know why I was fucking around with Matt; he was a pretty cool kid.

So I trip him for the third time and he “accidentally” swings his hand out and it “accidentally” smacked me in the mouth. Of course there had to be a group of kids to witness the clash, and I am bleeding so it becomes this big bloody deal.

The teacher breaks up our altercation and marched us up to the principal’s office directly. Long story short, I make a big deal out of challenging Matt to a rematch of our “fight” which appeared to be a victory for my opponent.

The whole school was there, or so it seemed, when Matt pedaled his bike up to the appointed spot and I was waiting with my hands wrapped specially with tape, tacks and nails that I planned on shredding Matt’s face with.

He threw his bike to the ground, came over and knocked me out with his first punch.

Stay well.