THE STING

I remember being a boy in northern Michigan.  We had these massive bee-hives that hung from tree branches and abandoned buildings.  The bees  that made these paper nests were called bald-faced hornets.

I'd say they pack the same punch as a rattle-snake, you just catch a lower dose.  Their sting will literally paralyze you and they will chase  you for miles.  Our stupid asses would throw rocks at them and then run like hell.  They always got you, and it felt like someone jabbed a dart into your skin. Then came the burning site sensation that would swell, fester and last for hours.

That boy grew into a man.  I chuckle to think back at that silly boy, then realize us adults still do the same dumb shit.  I still throw some rocks then run like hell.  The sting we feel hurts more and lasts longer than the bees ever did.

That boy never stopped to consider that was the bee's home.  They were just in there, chillin', doin' what bees do.  We came along and knocked their happy  homestead on the ground.  No wonder they got so upset.  The boys grew into men and still forgot to consider what happens when you fire shots at unsuspecting targets.

I'm not talking about bees anymore.  I refer to lives and feelings and someone's heart.  I married a woman when I was 19.  When we divorced eight years later, she told me that one day she hoped someone would come along and crush me the way I did her!  I've managed to avoid that because I've installed a "Trump" size wall around my heart.  I've always been the one throwing rocks, and never had anyone get inside enough to knock down my happy place.

I've been doing this prison thing for eight years.  This place starts to get under your skin.

If you use the same washer at the laundromat every week on Tuesday and one day you come in and someone else is using that washer, what happens?   What about that parking space you like so much in front of your job?  You park there every day but today someone else parked there.  One person just moves to the next washer, or just uses another parking spot.  But that likely affects yet another person.

What if you parked in that spot for eight years?  What if you used that washer on the same day for 8 years?  It's not your washer anymore than it's your parking spot.  We somehow get all in our emotions over this shit.  I use this reference because I'm trying to ask you to understand my mind.

Lately I have been asking a woman to understand.  I don't think she does.  It frustrates me and even more so, when I had to realize I let someone scale the "Trump" wall.  Instead of simply walking away like I usually do, or run, for that matter,  I;m just standing here and the bees are coming and the sting hurts like hell.

I feel a loss of direction.  What's up?  What's down?  It's a lot to sort out.  Someone has been here for a long time and now they're leaving.  I've been sleeping in the same house for eight years, ten when I am done and then I'm moving back to someones else's house.  It's unfair for me to ask people to sit around and wait for me to see the end picture.  My end zone comes into play in two years.  I can't call that two years from now any more than I can call it today.

To any woman who ever wished some dude would one day feel their pain, don't worry---he will!!
Somewhere, someplace, sometime.

Once  upon a time there was a boy without a care in the world.  Throwing rocks at a beehive.......