In The Beginning

On January 28th, 1983, after I worked at K-Mart in New Philadelphia, a co-worker and I visited a bar to watch a local band play. Jill didn't go. Tim met me at her apartment. That is where I left my car. From there, we left to watch the band play at Windchaser's Nightclub Lounge in downtown New Philadelphia. My 1979, medium dark-brown Ford Granada remained at Jill's white, double-story, wooden apartment, owned by her dad's brother. She rented the downstairs apartment from him. We left her apartment that night in his tiny Ford Pinto.

Tim and I met our friends from work and from college that Friday night at the Windchaser's Lounge in downtown New Philadelphia. That is where we learned of a geodesic-style home having been built near Deis Hill Road, close to the Dover city park. We decided to visit and see the new home, before I went back to Jill's home for me to get my car.

I did not make it back. Not as the same person. The vaguely intelligent and intellectually satisfying individual whom I had become, and was embellishing upon with even further growth of many sorts during my gradual transformation had dropped the microphone. On the floor. Even if I have managed to replace his presence in many manifestations, on various instances, there are just as many aspects of him that were never recalled. That person has left us now. Forever. I have been left to take his place.

After the car crash caused my Traumatic Brain Injury soon after midnight on an early Saturday morning, the local ambulance service gathered me from a property near to the the city park. Mom said the property belonged to a dentist and he covered me with a blanket quickly, to help me stay warm and to prevent hypothermia. The outside temperature was freezing, or colder.  She also told me that one of the police officials at the scene informed her that if I had worn my seat belts that night, I may not have survived. The roof of his Ford Pinto was crushed on the passenger side - my side.

Ken was working at the Dover hospital that night. He must have talked with members of the ambulance crew when they brought me in from the ambulance. Ken worked in a respiratory unit and assisted in the Emergency Room when patients came in the ambulance. I believe he helped with oxygen and blood gases mixture, among other things. I think he has told me that I was pretty bloodied and broken. That was January 29th, 1983. My life still goes on, so they must have helped me to survive.

It's All A Part Of The Scam

I'm unsure of how this all works. If I trudge forward, I hope I can develop something. There is a really good story inside of my and I hope to share it. So, I will trudge forward, and I hope others may enjoy what I write.
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There is way too much happening at any one time, all the time. Every minute of every day. That seems to be how they want us people. We are always on the edge trying to get all our ducks in a row, so to say. I think that is all part of being human. Most of us must struggle and force ourselves to work at a lower level of value in order to be creative and capitalize on our individual conditions. As if we are being led to an unknown end product. It is harder to maintain a sense of achievement as we struggle to merely survive. At least 90 percent of our population may achieve that much when we are at our best. I believe this is the reason we are controlled by debt, and continual financial difficulty.