What if?

One of my favorite comic series Marvel did was the 'What if?...." line. The premise was about slightly tweaking the storyline of various superhero's, like What if Gwen Stacey hadn't been killed by the Green Goblin? What if Doctor Doom was a part of the Fantastic Four? It is still an ongoing series but with tweaks of story arcs I have no clue about, ergo how could I appreciate the subtle change.
I started thinking about this tonight after a conversation with Yesenia [the current... ??... girlfriend...?] about how if she didn't have a baby and had a job/car our relationship would be more than it's current once-weekly conjugal visit. This got me thinking because I've oft thought she probably wouldn't have given me a 2nd glance were she not in her current situation.
This got my mind going at full speed thinking of the numerous other "what if" situations throughout my life.
There are of course the countless financial ones I dwell on... especially as I am eeking out an existence- 'What if I hadn't quit Walgreens before going to Thailand?' Then I would have come back to a job and and decent income while I slowly made the transition from WAG Asst Mgr to massage therapist extraordinaire. Would I still be in LA because I was making a good dual income? Would I have taken that money and developed a nasty coke habit? Would Paul have finally introduced me to Kevin Nealon? Would I have eventually worked at the Playboy mansion and gain my notoriety? Then I have to think of the converse. It was due to how little I was making at Escape combined with the high cost of living in Redondo Beach that led me to Tamarack, one of the best experiences of my working life. Then I wouldn't be able to say I use to snowmobile/kayak to work.... where I massaged celebrities, met the first girl I said I love you, and meant it. Also I wouldn't have had that whole world eventually shattered.
Here's a biggie-- What if my parents were of my mindset when they were in college? Then I sure as shit wouldn't be writing this because I would be a particularly heavy period after my mom ingested whatever pills of the days caused abortion. I never really thought of the true ramifications of such a decision until I found out in high school I could have had a sibling.... Still wouldn't have a kid, not now for damn sure.
What if... the car that hit me in 7th grade had been a truck? Assuming I wasn't turned into road burger I doubt I would have escaped with only a concussion and sprained ankle. It's science!! Maybe a little geometry as you factor in the angle and height of the car that allowed me roll up the hood vs. the blunt impact.
What if I had become paralyzed from the waist down, like Jess my girlfriend [who I just found out didn't consider us that] that 1st summer back from college. I wouldn't have started snowboarding in 9th grade. Perhaps I would have read even more [though I don't know how that could have been possible... I read all the time], delved further into video games and comics because my parents would sympathise with my wants to compensate for my lack of legs. Would I have been less dark and macabre like I was high school. Would I have instead focused on activism and inclusion of minorities.
There are so many potential paths that could have spiraled out of that instant. I was thinking about this will Jess... she couldn't enjoy a lot of the things I do, with me. No hikes up to alpine lakes, no last night skinny dipping in the ocean, no Ankor Wat or those damned inevitable Mayan temples!!
It's interesting to think of myself as solely cerebral. There wouldn't be the internal debates between staying in to read and type or going for a bike ride or camping.
Maybe I would have partied more!!
"Hey I'm a cripple... give me those pain killers and hookers to make me feel good about my sad lot in life!" Which would of course be a total scheme 'cause I would be feeling pretty fucking good with all the sympathy drugs and pussy...[like midgets] assuming all the plumbing didn't get fucked up [maybe like midgets].

....Well this has been a fun walk down fantasy lane. When it comes down to it though what is the point of suppositions? What happened, happened and your making your history every second... Time and thought should factor past actions when considering future ones. Why dwell when you could compel... propel?? What the hell?

A fitting end of an age

An end.
A beginning.
Often I fear,
romantic interludes.
The potentials.
The constraints.
IDealized expectations.
This girls comes with a lot.
Not sure how much I want.
I do like the packaging.
A new king sized playground.
A momentous win.
Vandal spirit.
Like the time under the I tower.
Minus the snow.
Add attraction.
Equals?
There were plans.
NYE with her.
Long overdue slumber party.
Motherly duties.
Outshine parties.
NO midnight kiss.
With her at least ;)
Rallied with a seldom seen friend.
Explored new parts of this fair city.
Saw the space needle from a roof,
full of amorous,
happy people.
A couple drinks,
more herbal.
Pizza.
A mellow night.
Alone besides my bedhog bitch.
In a bed still to small for her.
The new year.
Decade.
Try to recall 99 NYE.
A lame GHS party.
Where I actually cared
about kissing at midnight.
It probably took a lot
of courage.
Now I have an angel.
Go for a nice stroll.
Recognize the tendancies of age.
Biked DT to escape.
Up in the Air
A man on the go.
Life lived out of a suitcase.
One night stands.
NUmerous connections.
Zero obligations.
A chance encounter turns for he better.
Something to pursue.
To eventual lies and hurt.
A goal reached.
Sad reality.
The Road
Distopian father and son journey.
Scene after scene-
Dispair.
Tough decisions,
based on the truest love.
A reason I fear a little me.
I will have to live on.
How would I fare.
Alone?
With She Ra?
Dad?Mom?
Who would I need?
To keep me from eating a bullet.
How hard would you fight?
With no one watching?
A wet ride back.
Better than blasted wastelands.
Back to the girl.
Do I want her.
On my arm?
my D?
Does she want me?
Or am I just a free ride?
Not allowing myself to bankroll
her past indiscretions.
Her gulibity.
Love[?] will do funny things
to logic.
Is taking is low good now?
Easing into things.
Like the frog in the pot?
Will it boil me.
Or will I have a pleasant bath.
Salts and scrubs.
I can see a happpy future.
The motherly instinct is sexier
than her banging legs.
Will she stay while I go.
Both would have to come...
The people weighing me down.
Or keeping me grounded?
The rest of the weekend
a blur of senseless anger,
mind-numbing work.
Now I write.
Plan a romantic dinner.
Long for sleep.
Knowing I need to motivate.

There is no home

I'm in a house

unknown to the child

within.

The garage has

boxes,

containers.

My childhood.

Toys

blankies

my first dogs.

The stuffed variety.

The house I knew.

Bulldozed.

Paved over.

A new Mormon church.

The irony

doesn't escape me.

The field ,

the tree line,

my dogs and I

wandered.

Countless

imaginary adventures.

The solace of

solo childhood.

A road.

A subdivision.

A pre-manufactured

facsimile.

A whole town

fat and bloated.

Cancerous growth

across the desert.

Everything changes.

Except man's sloth,

greed,

need,

at an ever-growing

speed.

To the edge

of the canyon.

Over the sustainable

limit.

Of rationality.

Obvious answers

abound.

Yet we still demand,

more for less.

Not accounting.

True costs.

To be paid.

Eventually.

All comes around.

A snake eating its tail.

Our plastics

choke baby seals.

Hold our food.

Depletes our supply.

Causes melanomas.

Thank you Mr DuPont.

Environmentalist rant.

Brought on by a lack of place.

People wonder,

why I wander.

I'm just looking for home.

Instead of a storage unit.

Or is that precisely what I want?

Is it where the heart is?

Where my dog is?

Are they the same.

Could it be her?

Or is that better reason to go?

I feel bad.

Smiling and nodding.

The good boyfriend.

While I cruise away,

in my mind,

the eventual trek.

Always solo.

Inner,

outer,

exploration.

In a few short weeks,

from a small world,

the stratosphere,

a warm cozy place,

thinking I was going to die,

breathless,

broken,

cold.

Could be worse.

Death in a cubicle,

florescent poisoning.

Paper cut to death.

Better malaria,

snake bit,

hi-jacked by bandits.

Better stories to tell,

than years of

monotony.