For Want of a Coat and a Bag of Gold

When I was meandering through the wild canyons of Utah, and all the great Colorado country, I remember thinking that one day maybe I'd be back and have a nice warm human female to share it with. Over time I pretty much said heck with it, forget about it. And I not only no longer thought about it, I really no longer cared one way or the other. Spend eternity alone? Beats hell, with or without company, and I've been there both ways.

Now, all of a sudden, I do have the chance, and I don't even have suitable clothes, let alone the money. And all I'd be doing is visiting, rent free. All the digs and such are in place. Or I think they are. That is the price you pay when you go on strike at 29 years old and never truly regain your bearings. I went on strike because it seemed everything I knew was wrong--at least in the way business, government, and human beings tend to operate. They shook my reality so hard, and disgusted me deeply. Even so, I see now that I walked away from millions of dollars, and possible death by assassination.

That is the trouble with obsession and passion, and I'm not talking the kind that involves stalking or seeking a human companion. If you have no proper guidance, no knowledgeable sounding boards, you can become just as dedicated a quitter as you were a creator of great things.

And in the end, you won't even have a proper coat or jacket to go hiking or skiing or exploring in the mountain west in wintertime. This is a lesson you should pass on to your children.

Perhaps I will figure a way to swing the cash to get there for a visit, and just wear all the clothes I own at once. Or I can raid the Goodwill donation places for good outdoorsy jackets, boots, thermal wear, etc. Damn. I don't think this is going to happen. I may have to just say, "Sorry, I'm poor, and I have ignored anything that dealt with security future or winter for too long. I'm too much of a loser to even accept the invitation." I won't say that, but it is basically true and that is beginning to piss me off.

Friends will berate me for not jumping at the chance, and would not do so to such a degree were they to live in my skin for a month. That doesn't mean they are not right. I have a WW2 army-air force officer's overcoat. It is wool and weighs a ton. Somehow, I do not think that is the best thing for the job.

It is the story of the princess and the pea. I'm the pea, and you have to ignore the actual plot of the story for that to make any sense.