I scare myself. Period. A plan in the morning is folly at night. Since I moved west, every nutty passion I’ve developed over the years seems to be in demand. Sales, marketing, video production, music, stand up, personal training and even cooking.

One phone call can turn my world upside down and inside out. I never learn. Don’t want to.

I am addicted to uncertainty. According to actuarial tables, I have more behind me than I do in front of me, so let’s dispense with the moderation, shall we? It’s too late.

After all the nuttiness of the last year, there is no way I’m gonna straighten up and fly right now.

I realize now that every straight gig I have ever had, though lucrative, bound me up and gagged me. “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation,” says Thoreau. I call it “Wimpy Living”. I’m too far out the shoot for that.

This is like the Gold Rush. Most business men out here have more creative ideas than a Gambino foot soldier. Nothing is off the table. Gotta love it.

I’ve had many Monte-Christo moments in my Château d’If. It took a year of introspection and reconstruction to right myself again. AA, therapy, self-help, religion, enemas, no thank you.

I regained my health, both mental and physical, and managed to get back up on my now, two strong legs. I’m better than ever, according to me. 🙂

There’s no time for second thoughts. No long term plans. Can’t happen. It’s over. If I ever needed a reason to get over myself, I have it. There will be no “Wimpy Living” from here on out. So let’s kill something… and eat it, shall we?