That depends…

It really depends on what name I’m being called at the moment. My family name is Slavic; my given name comes from a Chaplin in the Marines. Later I gained an adopted name, when all along I identified with my great-grandfather’s name. I’ve had the usual assortment of nicknames and variations on the theme, never really liked any of them enough to embrace it.

The name I was called most often was Seargent. I grew into it and embraced the spirit of the title until it became a name. It represented a master of my trade, skilled enough to lead and teach others. Over the years, I hope that I inspired others to strive for the same level of success and knowledge.

There comes a time when you have to take off the uniform and become someone else. That sloppy undisciplined someone you were before. Today I can tell where I know someone from by what they call me. Family and old friends dredge up nicknames I have heard or answered to for decades. Soldiers and cops dance between rank and Sir Name. New acquaintances are just confused.

Maybe someday I’ll figure out who I am.

Daily writing prompt
Where did your name come from?

A Bottle Shop… with things in them.

There’s an old reference. If you know it, I congratulate you on a very unique reading history. Since I started reading at a fairly young age and usually borrowed my siblings’ books, that describes my personal experience.

Maybe I should open a bookstore and sell all of the books that fed my imagination. Corrupting the youth of the future seems like a worthy cause. Making sure there is a new generation questioning everything the “establishment” tells them sounds fun. We are a sum of our experiences and what we feed our minds, weird should be on the menu.

Ohhh! A gun shop. Nothing fancy, just plain old, reliable weapons. A little custom work, sights and accessories. Bulk ammo, leather work and good blades.

Motorcycles! All makes and models, stock and custom. I’ll call some friends, and we can set up a real shop. Make a rep for good prices and custom work.

The bottle shop? Fine wines and spirits. Not just expensive. Good quality no matter the price. Yep. A bottle shop. I’ll sell bottles with things in them. Just don’t let them sit on the shelf and gather dust or the wrong person open them.

Daily writing prompt
If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?

Are we really paying for the meal?

I’ve spent a lot for dinners, usually more for alcohol. Or a combination of the two. They have all been worth it. Probably the most for one night out with friends was about $600 with drinks and a bottle of wine for a couple that just got married. Cute kids.

The most damage in one night was taking over a bar in Myrtle Beach and dropping a thousand before it was over. Worth every penny. I don’t know what was spent overall, but I remember the tab. We still tell stories about that night and “Stinky Pinky” because I refused to order foo-foo drinks by name.

Worth every cent!

Daily writing prompt
What’s the most money you’ve ever spent on a meal? Was it worth it?

Back in my head…

I’ve posted about my journey of recovery and PTSD in the past. In fact, this blog was started for that and to help me my thought out of my head. Honestly, it’s getting pretty crowded in there lately.

I’ve known for a long time that my emotions were mostly shut down, except for the safe ones. “What are safe emotions?”, you probably didn’t ask. Well, anger is safe. Except for the violence it can let out. Maybe on special occasions a flash of amusement, but not much, that can lead to happiness and that’s always risky. If I’m happy something will come along and crush it. Satisfaction is usually okay, if it’s from something that I’ve accomplished. I like the feeling of completion. It just doesn’t last either. I mean what have I done lately?

The only other emotions that I feel regularly and recognize are sadness and love. Nostalgia is in there somewhere, for the lost innocence of childhood and feeling like I was safe. I don’t get envy or hatred; they take too much energy. Appreciation and gratefulness show up and punch me in the gut sometimes, when someone just does something nice. It really is stunning. Loyalty is strong. I may not keep in touch with people as well as I should, but I will drop everything to help a friend.

I feel like the slow kid in class who is trying to color, but all I have are the fat five color crayons that kindergarten kids use and everyone else is using the big 64 color set. You remember the ones, with the cool sharpener in the back. I just don’t understand. I can’t feel the rest. Are there anymore emotions out there? Compassion, empathy, fear? What is contentment like? I don’t trust it. To squishy.

Fear came up recently. It is likely why I’m awake at 3 A.M. writing instead of sleeping. I was talking to a counselor today, trying to describe why my lack of fear was an issue and admitting that I put people in danger because I lack the common sense of pond scum. I got people hurt and killed, put people in bad situations because I was too stupid to be afraid or think about them. I keep reliving incidents, walking into a riot with my partner, just the two of us. No fear, nothing can hurt me. But Stephanie, about half my size, with a daughter at home. Ed following me into an apartment with a shooter inside. Omar trusting me to get him out and holding his hand while he died. What about the kids I trained? Did they try to imitate me and my stupid, reckless behavior?

It feels like I was screaming; “Look at me! I’m too stupid to be afraid! You should be just like me!”

Shit it’s crowded in here.