Smack Dab In The Middle

Your chest is tight, your mind is racing, you fingers are flying like frightened ducks from a lake. This is the middle of an attack, folks, and none of us like it here. Some of the worst feelings in the world are self inflicted and being right here right now is just about the most crippling feeling in the world.

I feel like I can relate to quadrapelegics with total sanity but loss of physical capabilities. I’ve got full control over my body, my brain however, is pleading with me “More, it says. Give me more!” I can’t do it though, enough is absolutely enough. I’m at work but I cannot work. I see piles of awesome projects to do but my body stays paralized in a one track mind mentality.




I’ve got brains, and some would even say I’m somewhat intelligent, but when I feel an “episode” coming on I’m useless. For me, it’s not a comfort thing anymore. I don’t reach for a comfort because I feel uncomfortable.




Beyond all that nonsense and worrying about the likelihood of losing all contact with what reality is and what I love about life, I realize this is chemical. I know it’s chemical because for once in my life .




Those things that really hung me up before, money, relationships, fame, all that jazz means nothing to me now. All of the priorities that I had prior are kaput. Life isn’t about what’s on the next plate of food (unless you’re genuinely starving), or about how exotic your furniture is. Life is about living, and I’m really loving this living business, but every once in a while that monster jumps up and gobbles me up for no good reason.




It wouldn’t be such a big deal had I not pondered on it the entire way home last night. I’ve quit drinking, although everybody was really doubtful and worried that I couldn’t do it, I did. I have no physical desire to drink and I certainly don’t have any mental reason to want to either. The high risk choices that came from that party animal in me were destroying me, and life was a struggle, but self inflicted. I chose to put those drinks in my hand. I chose to put those pills in my mouth and although it doesn’t really seem right, I chose to wreck my car. All of those things are circumstances in which I made a decision, a conscience one at that, and had to deal with the outcome.




I can’t help it, and although self help books claim that meditation, therapy, recovery houses and all that jazz are what will keep you clean it’s not true. I’m going to go as far as to say when an episode hits it might as well be a grand mal seizure. The tense muscles, the jerking, the compulsiveness. All of these just erupt from nowhere. Case in point was today, I was happily working on my project (my favorite project around the nursery all year) and all of a sudden it was almost like there was a switch that was flippped and my brain started sending out these ridiculous surges of dopamine. I was all bound up in my entire brain but didn’t want to be. Just as an epileptic has an “aura” before having an episode, I suppose these random disordered outbursts also have “auras”.




It always starts with simply checking to see what time it is. This will become very aggravating because you’ll find yourself checking every thirty seconds to see if something has happened and time has stood still. I always get into almost a panic mode while out and about and feel that I absolutely NEED to have my phone within grasp at all times. I’ll sometimes just keep the screen on so that I can just look at it and see what time it is. This morning I swear it was 10:30 for almost three hours. I had graduated from my ADSAP class and was on top of the world, but was stuck. The clock was stuck, I was stuck. I kept checking and checking, the time slowly advanced and I thought I was going to collapse.

Moving on from there, it always evolves into me going back and forth from one place to another, not quite understanding what I’m supposed to be doing. This is especially tricky when there isn’t anything to do, but it gets downright dangerous when that starts and you actually have things you need to do. Like me today, I know I had so much work to do around here it isn’t even funny, but my brain has gone into lock mode.




Then comes the haze that washes over you, the same as a seizure, you’re absent, confused, and unable to control exactly what you’re doing. I kid you not, I feel like there have been strings attached to my limbs at times and my arms are moving just because somebody else is pulling them. I do what I can, but it usually is of poor outcome and quite embarrassing. I push myself a little harder to catch myself from falling but it’s no use. My brain has jumped out of the plane without it’s parachute again and all I can do is wait for the rough impact.




After accepting the fact that these eating disordered “episodes” aren’t me being a nut case, that they are in fact associated with my brain, I feel better, but also a little saddened. I can’t control my brain, the drugs aren’t working, and I shouldn’t really be stressed about anything. I plead with my brain to “chill the fuck out” but unless it’s good and ready I might as well have a seat and wait this one out. Kind of like a panic attack, or, well, a seizure. Yes. A seizure. I’m still going to be dry, and I’m still going to be iffy in certain circumstances socially. Isn’t everyone?

I give thanks to those that actually read this shit and care. You know who you are, and if you don’t think it’s you – you should believe in yourself more.

We are all loved.

Yes, I have a teddy bear and a backpack sprayer box for a night stand. I used to have it all, now I I have what's important - my sanitiy.

Yes, I have a teddy bear and a backpack sprayer box for a night stand. I used to have it all, now I I have what’s important – my sanitiy.


Pole Vaulting Over Mouse Turds

There aren’t any little things in life for me lately. Things are just all dramatic and what seems like life shattering. Although I’m keeping my head above water, it’s really starting to get to me. As I adventure through life as an anonymous alcoholic, I’m learning exactly WHY things seems more severe and I feel more passionate towards things that before didn’t really matter much. It’s because life is  a big deal. Living is a big deal, and dying is no laughing matter.

Let me preface this with my definition of “death” – the ending result of loss of life. It can be death of a relationship, death of a living creature, or death to an idea. I’ve found that I’m experiencing all sorts of those all at once. I’m surrounded by death. It’s everywhere. I can look out at people that usually know me as happy-go-lucky and I have this somber look about me. I’ve even been asked if I’m “all in there”, rest assured I am. Death is just a bitch. I’ve never dealt with it before.

Lets pick this apart using a very excellent analogy I heard locally. A buddy of a buddy told a dude once “You know, normal people they just kind of step over mouse turds and go about their business. I however, over think and prepare and exert all this unnecessary effort in getting over something that most people would find easy, if not invisible. In the relationship aspect there is no “invisible”, you can’t pretend is isn’t/wasn’t/won’t be there. It’s always going to be a hot topic and something certainly worth pole vaulting over any size turd for. I, however, have been soiling on purpose just to see if I can vault over my own turds in addition to the random ones that get dropped into my life.

Instead of dealing with other peoples problems as they relate to my own, I was shitting in other peoples cages. That isn’t right, I feel badly about that. Now I’m on a search seek and clean mission, not just for myself but to try to heal the people that I made deal with my pole vaulting mentality. Something as little and simple as what to eat for dinner became as big an event as the Super Bowl. My ability to make something out of nothing was extreme…and I was extremely pissed when it all came into light for me. All of the energy I spent in my relationships (past and present) I’ve been looking for stuff to jump over instead of just focusing on everything else going on. I was constantly on poo patrol.

It stunk, but nobodies fault but my own.

Death of a creature is something that I guess I know,  but then again I don’t know. There is this hole that gets ripped inside of you, which causes pain and confusion. Instead of focusing on the overall picture of being out of pain, I’ve found that I just focus on the “woe is me” aspect and wallow in my own self pity. I use this as a tool to arrange for a pole vault extravaganza and find sadness wherever I look. Oh, that song was his favorite, oh that cookie was her favorite, oh she was the best cat and loved to play in the leaves, oh that car was so amazing. I jump from turd to turd just anticipating a moment in which I can stew in my sad juices and think about my own death. Piling up my own turds. Sigh.

I didn’t realize how facinated with death I really am until speaking aloud in class the other day about how I would react to a certain situation. This in turn lead to me plainly answering “I wouldn’t deal with it, I’d find the tallest tree and the shortest rope and swing in the breeze.” This of course didn’t amuse anybody in the class, and I’m sure it alerted the instructor,  but that’s exactly what I was feeling. Damn it, if I’m going to fuck up, I’m going to do it with style and punish myself afterwards.

I realized, however, I don’t have to fuck up. I don’t have to use all of that energy In order to properly save myself from this life long pole vault extravaganza, I’d have to commit myself to death of ideas.

The idea that I’m not good enough for anybody.

The idea that I’m not strong enough to become who I want to be.

The idea that I’m not smart enough to make good decisions.

The idea that I’m a troll from under a bridge.

The idea that I’m destined to be a screw up.

Last night I experienced death…death of pride. I really thought it would come in a different way, but it was subtle and really was a sucker punch. As I prepared myself for sleep I put my head against my pillow and listened. What I used to hear was the occasional car and perhaps owl hooting outside. Last night it was surround sound of three old men all sharing the same house snoring to their hearts content. They had their own special lives in their own private rooms and I was just like them. They’re all over 50, I’m thirty. I can’t go another 20 years plus of living this life. I won’t go another 20 plus years of being on an air mattress and listening to the three stooges in concert. In order to make this happen death has to occur.

Death of ideas, death of a few dreams, death of a few relationships. Most important though, with death comes new life. We’ll see what happens.


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Donut holes and dreams

“With ten miles behind me and ten thousand more to go”

The road can teach you valuable lessons, such as learning the interstate system and how to get awesome cb radio handles. The road can also be your best friend or worst enemy. Sometimes our best friends end up being our worst enemies, but more on that another day.

As I found myself in the one series going for a much needed therapeutic sunset cruise, it soon became apparent that with all the miles I had driven I hadn’t gone far enough. The therapeutic nature of my ride transforms into a mind numbing cry fest followed by bouts of singing at the top of your lungs.

The beauty of the therapeutic drive is that you are at the mercies of wherever your mind takes you. It doesn’t always have to be scenic, it doesn’t always have to have an end point, it just happens. Instead of counting the miles until you get to your destination your applauding yourself for the miles you’ve accumulated.

I think I accumulated whatever 3/4 of a tank of gas in the one series. It was peaceful, the open interstate, not even truckers were out. It was a pseudo apocalypse like setting. 85 southbound was vacant. The only soul that I encountered was the sweet lady at the truck stop I bought the donut holes from. For some reason she was laughing at the concept that I was buying donut holes and nothing else. Gee lady, get a life.

Then I realized, all the donut holes in the world could never fill the void that I have in my life at this very moment. I’m Curled up in the front seat watching the sunrise through grey skies and think back to the sunset from the night prior. I can’t remember it, but then again I know it happened. Much like many things in life, you know they happen and eventually you start taking them for granted.

I miss all the things I used to have, but drinking isn’t one of them. I’d rather be a homeless sober bum than living the highlife saturated with cunning, baffling booze. I would give up the sunsets forever to remove the toxic buildup of memories up has caused not only myself but my loved ones. As I work through my twelve steps I realize the massive number of people I hurt, but plead for forgiveness. I’d fall on my knees in a moment to sob at the feet of all those that I’ve hurt.

As I drove the empty interstate last night, looking for my last glimmer of reason, it came upon me. Maybe the roads are empty because everyone else is Curled up in a nice warm bed. Respectfully noted, that’s where I headed. To my dismay there was no room at the Inn. The door was locked and the beds were all full. Tail between my legs and heart in my throat I got back into the one series and Curled up. This is it, this is my bed and I will very happily lay in it and learn from it.

This morning, however, those donut holes don’t look any more appetizing.
All you can do is fall back on what you know, for me is music. James Taylor serenaded me many a times with this tune, and now I finally understand it.

“There’s a song that they sing when they take to the highway
A song that they sing when they take to the sea
A song that they sing of their home in the sky
Maybe you can believe it if it helps you to sleep 
But singing works just fine for me”

I cannot sleep and I’m not planning on visiting the sky, so I reckon I’ll just sing.



Free-ish Book

Screw it. I figure I wrote a book and anybody should be able to enjoy it.

I’m not going to lie, I thought the book was going to bring me a bunch of pats on the back and the feeling like I’ve really made a change in somebodies life. Yeah, that didn’t happen.

So – I dropped the price of the book on Amazon to $0.99 cents. They wouldn’t allow me to make it 100% free, sorry.

I can, however, upload and you can download it or do whatever magic the internet does.

The Noose, The Noodle And the Nectar

Click those blue letters – see what happens.


The hydrophobic leaf, the hoop to jump through, and the apple core

It’s lot to comprehend at once, I know. A bunch of stuff that doesn’t seem to mix together in any way shape or form. A bunch of stuff that seems like it shouldn’t belong together and even if they were found in the same place at the same time it’d be awkward. Yes, awkward.

However, I find myself dealing with all three of these things today and I like it. Not only are they all facets of my life that I truly relish, they’re all things that most people wouldn’t understand nor want to. We will start with the apple core. Let’s face it, I’m no longer in denial about what I was and who I want to be – I was obsessed with food for the past twelve years. That’s a long freaking time. I mean think about it, every waking moment worrying about what my last meal was, what my next meal is going to be and how quickly I can get rid of it. It sounds sadistic and truth be told it is, but that was the old me.

The new me, and hopefully the me that will inspire the rest of the world towards great things, could care less. My ex-husband never took the time to really get to know me, his response to my relationship with food was “Why can’t you be like everybody else, chew swallow and shit”. Yeah, that works well for Mr. high metabolism log flume turd machine, but not so much for me. Instead of focusing on how to get rid of things now, I’m looking forward to how I get them and how I actually enjoy them. Take for example my daily apple (they do keep certain doctors away). I decided to take every aspect of that apple and be grateful for it. The freshness, the crispness, the sweetness all of those things that would otherwise be lost on me. I was no longer anticipating the next bite, I was enjoying the moment that I was in.

Some people call this mindful thinking, I just call it paying attention. It’s incredible when your mind opens up what you can take in all at one.

That leads into this “hoop”. Yes, I’m a practicing member of AA – I’m not ashamed, if anything I’m the proudest of that than I am just about any other accomplishment in my entire life. I am able to discharge the shame and hurt that I’ve felt about myself for so long and realize that yes, I was powerless. Not anymore, if anything giving up and admitting that I was powerless wasn’t as difficult as it was for some of the other people I’ve heard speak. I knew it was a problem, I just didn’t know how to come to grasp the situation. As step one speaks:

Step 1 – I admit that I am powerless over my addiction and that my life has become unmanageable.

How embarrassing, right? How meaningless. I mean gee whiz, admitting that I am powerless over my addiction pretty much just wraps me up into a big bundle of loser, right?


Throwing up my hands and saying, “Okay, you’ve won, game over. I don’t want to play anymore.” has been the most empowering and awesome thing I’ve ever done. My life is amazing, I have the most amazing guy in the world, I live in the most amazing place in the world, I have some really awesome friends that help me out when the times get rough. Hell, I even have total strangers that compliment me on the way that I can bring light to situations. My life is awesome, but unmanagable. Picture it this way, you have a business and it’s booming. You’ve got profits, you’ve got dedicated customers, you’re looking towards franchising. You start that second store and carefully select the manager to take care of business when you can’t be around. That manager, the one you thought you could trust, lies and steals from you and runs your company into the ground. From a business stand point would you fire him or would you allow him to destroy all you’ve worked so hard for?

fire that bastard. Of course you’d fire him, but in retrospect that’s what alcoholism has done to so many defenseless people. They allow somebody or something to control the well being and happiness in life. It’s awesome, really, I can wake up in the morning and not even have a slight inkling to want something to drink and carry that with me throughout the day. I have mentally fired that bad manager. It’s destroying somebody else now, not my problem any more. After working through step one, step two will find you in a sort of spiritual enlightenment in which the best thing to take from it is to:

“relax, the hoop you have to jump through is much wider than you think it is.” I’ve gotten through that hoop with room to spare.

As for the hydrophobic leaf, in a depressed and antisocial state I find myself in my dark office. Along comes one of my fellow nursery workers with an innocent question on the reason why Indian Hawthorns die. Of course I could have just said “they’re shit plants” but no, I decided to grab that topic by the testicles and get on my high chair of plant knowledge and give a whole speech on the qualities of aging shrubbery and how it becomes conducive to fungal problems due to improper air circulation. I also went into the fact that newer cultivars have a better hydrophobic leaf to them and can repel water better so that the it gets absorbed into the soil instead of staying on the leaf to rot. I also went into proper spacing and before it knew it he was glazed over.

The response “So, it’s just because they’re, like, old?”

Yes, because they’re, like, old. That’s why Indian hawthorns die.

Apple core, worms galore, a can of some corrosive

Apple core, worms galore, a can of some corrosive

Enter Obsession, Hello Frank.

There is an old song about buying a pickup truck by some old guy buying a pick up truck. My favorite part of that song besides from the ridiculous lyrics is the fact that the guy selling the truck has a dog named “Frank”. Frank wasn’t necessarily happy about seeing the pick up truck getting sold and ended up biting the buyer. Anyways, it’s a good tune, and Frank stays in my memory,which is why I feel it very suiting that I name the “new” Shark Frank. Frank, meet your California friend, well, “The Shark” (he hasn’t gotten a real name yet).

In a demonic attempt and doing some wicked swaps, I’ve aquired another E24, but this time an M6. Why? Well, why the hell not. It was an excellent deal, despite the fact that there were more dead mice than dollars spent on it and it hadn’t moved in years, it seemed like a good idea at the time. After getting it moved, which took many pullies, winches and a whole bunch of muscle in the form of me trying to turn the steering wheel – it finally made it’s way up the ramp onto the wreck truck and off to the abyss it went.

When am I actually going to have time to create my monster? Hell if I know, I’m thinking about having a good old fashioned picking party and invite anybody that might need or want various parts for their very own E24. The stipulation – free parts for free labor. If I can get my shark back to moving again with a few random parts from Frank, I’ll be more than happy to share the wealth of goodies from under the hood. Keep in mind, this is a “project car”.

Funny enough, I dumped this project in my dad’s front yard and said, here, have fun. I didn’t realize that I would have this empty feeling of “oh crap, but I wanted to help” in my gut. Although I checked on the shark last week, I realized that there was a big hole torn in my heart from where the shark had taken a bite. Not only had my shark bitten me, it made me catch this nasty virus that I can only call “Sharkmania”. It’s almost as if I want to start stock piling these things and making connections with people just to help them if they should ever need parts. I want to be an ambassador to the shark fans out there.

Absolutely none of this would be possible without the never faltering support of my love, Mr. Bee and C & C Towing in Anderson, SC. I will tell you, if you ever need anything towed in South Carolina’s upstate region, call C & C Towing, he will totally hook you up. Ask for Fuzzy, tell him the silly blonde girl from Greenville with all the old junky BMW’s sent you.

Wish me luck. I’ll need it.

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A silent tear

I can’t explain exactly what goes through the mind of somebody that feels like they’ve been placed into a foreign land without a map. This is how I feel most of the time, sometimes without even leaving my house. The dark abyss of my brain can transform perfectly normal things into exotic scary things and the places I feel are safe are suddenly scary.

I understood it when i was drinking, it just was the fact that the booze was altering my mind. My thoughts were being contorted by some weird substance in my blood stream. The thoughts were like nightmares and I knew that once I work up from a drink fest everything would be back to normal. I could navigate the dark corners of my mind without a map. I was the mistress of my mess. That’s what I thought at least.

Now, here I am, mistress of my mess but it seems to be getting messier. I know beauty comes from chaos (that’s why I look like I do, thanks mom and dad)  but I can’t take so much. It’s confusing, this AA business is making things  confusing but clear at the same time. How can that be, how can I feel like I’m getting better and worse at the same time? Why can I be so scared of something that is so good for me.

Easy, it’s the circumstances that I allow myself to dwell on. In the program, in order to fully accept the fact you’re an alcoholic, you have to admit that you’re powerless over that wicked potion that promises you answers. The truth will set you free, and it has for me or certain. I can honestly say I haven’t even wanted to almost drink for almost a month now.

There is a larger problem though, this mess that I’ve made prior to becoming a recovering hero. I look around me and see a bunch of loose ends and frayed knots. None of those knots are holding the right things together and all of those loose strings once made up a magnificent tapestry. That tapestry now looks like it has withstood a thousand windstorm. How to you even begin to pick up the pieces?

The face in the mirror today told me what I wanted to hear, the rest of the world however saw otherwise. I have to start believing in who I want to be and what I have the potential to become. Most people wallow in the fact they’re confused and scared. I make the proclamation and usually cry a lot. It helps sometimes, sometimes it just dehydrates me.

I’m not going to stumble and start back on other self destructive patterns, I’m not going to let the dark abyss lure me back in again. I’ve decided that being the mistress of my own abyss is better than being the goddess of someone else’s garden.

The Anonymous Alcoholic

"You are what you are not"

“You are what you are not”

So, after a fairly long look into the philosophical mirror, I decided I wanted to change some of my behaviors. Instead of fall on my face and ass, I’d rather keep my face to the sun and keep my ass, well, right were it’s supposed to be. I’ve been beaten and bruised, had my heart broken then broken hearts, cried and then laughed, spent money and lost money. It’s been cyclical and tiring, it’s been a wild ride…but just like some rides it gets tiresome after a while. Stop the train, I want to get off.

I did it, I took the first step of Alcoholics Anonymous. “Hello, my name is Nikki and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for almost three weeks now.” True story.

I’ve admitted to myself and others that I am powerless over alcoholic beverages. I have admitted that I’ve been on a destructive path of self-hatred for quite a while some time now and I’m starting to pay the piper. The most comfort I find is being alone, which is almost unheard of from me, but at the same time I still have things to say. My new motto….”I don’t bake no fucking pies!”; a statement that I yelled at the top of my lungs during the first week of jumping on the say no to drinking bandwagon. I don’t even remember what the subject was, but somebody asked me to do something that I didn’t want to do – something that would be sort of required of me because I was female…long story short I ended up yelling at him “I don’t bake no fucking pies.” That was the end of that, request not sent. Thumbs down. Dislike.

Moving on from there I decided that this new empowerment was fantastic and if I could channel this aggression towards a simple task like baking pies I could certainly use that to fuel a fire to become a recovering alcoholic. I hold my head up proudly and say, “Yes, I had a problem.”

My daily life was surrounded by it, and now as I look back it sucked. It didn’t just suck for me, it sucked for everybody around me. It sucked for my job, my relationship, and most of all it hurt the most important person in the world to me, and that’s me. Not to sound self-centered, but I’ve realized that unless you have total confidence and faith in yourself and take care of yourself the way you would treat somebody else that you care about, you’ll never achieve what you want or need out of life. You’ll just wallow in your own self hatred and try to drown yourself in a toxic potion of white liquor and maybe even a flask just in case.

I knew I had a problem around Christmas time, I actually looked into going into a recovery center – but I didn’t. I actually called a center and set up an evaluation to go in and see if I could be admitted in August, but I didn’t. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t, I was too afraid of what people would think or say. That being the case, I no longer understand why I didn’t go through with it, I care about myself, but I couldn’t shake it. I had John Barleycorn hanging out with me, he was my pal, he was my comrade, he was my co-pilot.

As I continue on my path of becoming an Anonymous Alcoholic, I take this pledge to all reader-dom – the next time I take a drink, it might as well be a drink of bleach because the life that I was living wasn’t worth living at all. I can’t stress enough how relieved and how I feel anew. This was the first Halloween in a very long time that I didn’t wake up the next morning with a pounding headache. Sigh.

I’m working on a new book called “The Anonymous Alcoholic”….In Kindle Stores soon!

I like to help the helpless.

I was in a meeting last night where somebody said “I feel the best about myself when I’m helping others help themselves”. I thought about it for a while and realized it’s sort of cyclical thinking. If I’m getting good vibes helping other people, and other peoples are feeling better about themselves, it will put them in a situation that will make them want to help others too. Going back to the previous persons statement, I feel the best about myself when I AM helping others, but not with “gardening”, “relationship advice”, or even what to have for dinner. I feel best about myself when I’m helping people grow into who they want to be.

This includes everybody, not just the cut and dry, straight edge pillars of the community. This includes the hard core bad guys that I had the opportunity to wait in the waiting room with yesterday. This includes those that struggle silently in their sleep everything as they dream of who they really want to be. This includes me, selfless old me.

I wrote the book, a few people bought it and that was the most amazing feeling in the world. Beyond that I feel like I’m not exactly in a position to help people face to face. I like to remain a little more on the “anonymous” side and not take anybody for face value. In other words I don’t want to judge people before I get a chance to actually get to know them. I can’t say I’m perfect, but sometimes people frighten me.

I’m working on an app, one for everybody like you, like me, that would enjoy overcoming the hurt.

I’m still working on it.

As everybody should do, all day every day. Self improvement is a life long, every single day project. Don’t give up, I’ll keep working at this app, you keep working on your self.

With the hair of fury, I'm the super hero of recovery.

With the hair of fury, I’m the super hero of recovery.

Mystery of the Model T


Unfortunately, the ride in the model T  was short, but the memories will last a lifetime. Something about the age, the reliability, the patina, the overall history of the automobile made it magical.

Bouncing away from the queue, we were transported into a fantastic time portal in which the world was simple, technology was minimal and the complexity of modern life disappeared. The model T bounced along the narrow roadway through a fabricated town in a magical land of Henry Ford.

I’ve never had anything really awesome to say about Henry Ford, but I do admire him. I admire him for allowing us to enjoy his fantastic driving machine, I admire him for the innovations he’s put forth in assembly lines, I really admire him for building something out of nothing.

That, I guess, is where I find myself. My empire seems to have crumbled, my buildings have fallen and all that seemed as steady as a concrete bridge has collapsed under my feet. I don’t really know how to explain it, but it’s almost like getting into that model T.

Most people would just get into the car, go for the touristy ride, and take pictures to share with friends to say, “hey, look what I did”. I didn’t feel that way, I felt humbled. I felt different, I felt gratitude for so many things. The ride was a bit bumpy, yes. The seat was pretty well broken in, but then again, so is my rear end. There was a mystic feeling to that ride.

I now look back at that ride and wonder, what would it be like if I went back and did it on a different day? Would my experience be any better or worse depending on who the driver was, that particular model T from the  fleet I was in, who I  was riding with?

Yes, yes yes!

It’s a new day, and everything that transpires from day to day builds up into unique, stronger people. Some people, the lucky ones I think, are able to see the pieces and form a strong person from scratch, others aren’t that smart. Not for lack of trying, but just lack of ability.

Think about Henry Ford, he has the ability to build something amazing out of a pile of junk. Other people might have looked at him like he was insane, or worse, just different. He didn’t care though, he was driven to build, to create,  destroy the failures and see successes take their place. The people that Jun the inventive mind are just scared of using their maximum potential.

I’m looking at a pile of car parts and wondering how can I build my very own model T? From these pieces I’ve been blessed with, what am I going to Build? My idea is to construct the model T I’ve always wanted to be. I’m not going to adhere to other people’s build sheets, listen to what the public wants or even take time to see what the competition is doing. Henry Ford didn’t have competition, and I believe that’s what made him who he was.

In modern culture, I feel play too much to the competition for direction. I’m building my model, but I’m starting from the bottom and working my way up.