Things I’ve Done: Odds and Ends I

Just some odds and ends of things I’ve done – so as old age creeps up we don’t forget – and my daughter requested . . . and because everyone says: “oh, but you’ve lived such an interesting life!”, LO dry L’s; you be the judge . . .

I’ve sat in a swamp in the dark of night, up to my shoulders in filthy water, feeling the subtle tickles of ticks settling in – upwards of fifty a night . . . listening…

I gave up counting car wrecks after the eighteenth one.  No – I’m a very good driver – I just seem to pick bad drivers to ride with a lot of times in my youth.

I pissed in the golf hole on the Augusta Club’s Master’s Tournament golf greens late one night with a bunch of drunk buddies and a case of beer.  I always get a chuckle when I watch them reach in that hole.  Any hole.  Cuz’ I was too drunk to know what hole it was. (LOL, I hear my teenager buddy Matthew laughing.  It was him, no doubt – we were about 16.)

I almost drowned swimming between islands, fully clothed and with boots, breathing through a thin reed . . . huge lake; “they” (the so-called enemy; this was a training exercise).  I remember – I got soooo tired, soooo very weary – had to keep UP! Breath through the reed . . . moving slowly; lest they notice a single stem moving through the water. I very barely made it.

I know what death looks like.  Up-close and personal, in-your-face kinda stuff.

I’ve seen the results of a man blowing his head off.  Grisly stuff, that.  Yet … the mind makes interesting notes.  The butcherhouse beef smell; the smell of fresh blood.  While the round hadn’t done much damage, all that blast entering his brain had.  Thinking “pipe bomb” here.  What I thought was a fine speckled paint all over everything — was him.  And yeah; I liked him.  He and I were sorta friends, though technically he was my SIL.

Funny thing: still can see ‘things’.  Won’t gross you out with them.  But just . . . anatomical oddities, so to speak.  We won’t go into them.

I’ve owned 32 cats at one time.  Purely accidental.  They kept breeding and breeding and breeding . . . until they were dropping their kittens and walking away from them.  No money to do anything, but we took care of them, thank god.  They were decimating the wildlife.

I accidentally catapulted a cat through the air in a thunderstorm one night.  It went howling into the darkness over the house . . . yeah, still alive.  It was fine.

I petted a wild bear in the Appalachians as a child.  Right on the nose.  He had wandered into the parking lot, and so had I.  Brother Bear . . .

I had one friend lived in the woods for 8 years – right in town.  Even got a wife there.  Then the baby died . . .

I’ve made money with my back and with my mind, and sometimes using both.  It pays to know things.

I was taught: build it yourself; we are too poor.  I learned how to sew my own stuffed animals by 9.  Not good ones, but they were cool.  Still have one left from those times.

Because of that, I’ve studied everything.  I know what I’m good at, but more important – what I’m not.  I’m not an electronics whiz: I can replace boards, but not fix them.  I don’t like doing house wiring.

Other than that – 40 some odd years of studying have taught me a lot.  I’m the ‘go-to’ man when it comes to solving thorny or technical problems.  Weird, hunh.  Is to me.

I hate compliments.  Don’t know why.  Can’t stand them.  “Just doin’ my job.” is what I tell folks.

I’ve driven (in the old days) down the highways under a full moon – 75 miles an hour, no lights . . . driving a silvery ribbon.  Back in those days, you could.  Once I drove all the way to Atlanta and back, all on I-20.  Couldn’t do that today . . .  and I didn’t care if I died or not.  I was then 16 or 17.

Fell off a cliff; nearly broke my back, attacking a machine gun nest at night.  NOT a good thing . . . pesky bastards.  Why didn’t I see that coming? . . . oh, yeah: night.  3 point landing – forehead and two hands. Never lost my grip on my weapon; came up firing . . .  o’tay, sure, it was just maneuvers , but Marines play for real.  We camped and had our wars in the places the other military services avoid: the ‘impact areas’ – live ammo the size of your leg down to little bits of metal that could kill ya . . .

We never went on a set of maneuvers where no one died.  In the desert: 240 heat casualties in less than two hours.  I don’t know how many died.  I do know there were others that died.

Marine Corps! Simper Fi!  Until the end . . . (grin).  Yeah, ya gotta be like that, or get the hell out.  Cuz’ losin’ friends for no good reason is hard on a man, ‘specially when you got no time to grieve.

Well, that’s enough for now.  We’ve just been having a weird time these past two days (should be used to it by now, I’m laughing!) – and that’s okay, too.

It just means somethings going on, and we’ll find out when the time’s due.

Jeff & Friends


About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle ( ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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