Seasons Change

by

Caution: This Romantic Story contains strong sexual content, including Romantic, .

Desc: Romantic Story: a wee bit different than my normal fare. A fella gets shat on by lady luck and pulls his head out. Twice. More philosophical than I've ever done before.

No Time

No time left for you
On my way to better things
No time left for you
I'll find myself some wings
No time left for you
Distant roads are calling me
No time left for you.

No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There's no time left for you
No time left for you.

No time left for you
On my way to better things
No time left for you
I'll find myself some wings
No time left for you
Distant roads are calling me
No time left for you.

No time for a gentle rain
No time for my watch and chain
No time for revolving doors
No time for the killing floor
No time for the killing floor
There's no time left for you
No time left for you.

No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There's no time left for you
No time left for you.

No time
No time
No time
No time

I got got got got no time
I got got got got no time
I got got got got no time
No no no no no no no time
No no no no no no no time
I got got got got no time
No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No No Time
I got no time
Got no time
Got no time
Got no time
Got no time

(No time left for you) On my way to better things
(No time left for you) I found myself some wings
(No time left for you) Distant roads are callin' me
(No time left for you) Da-un-da-un-da-un-da-un-da
No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There's no time left for you
No time left for you
(No time left for you) On my way to better things
(No time left for you) I found myself some wings
(No time left for you) Distant roads are callin' me
(No time left for you) Day-un-day-un-day-un-day-un-day
No time for a gentle rain
No time for my watch and chain
No time for revolving doors
No time for the killin' floor
No time for the killin' floor
There's no time left for you
No time left for you
No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There's no time left for you
No time left for you
No time, no time, no time, no time
No time, no time, no time, no time
I got, got, got, got no time
I got, got, got, got no time
I got, got, got, got no time
No-no-no, no-no-no, no time
No-no-no, no-no-no, no time
I got, got, got, got no time
No-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no,
no-no-no, no-no-no, no-no-no, no time
I got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time, got no time
Got no time, got no time

The Guess Who wrote a song supposedly about being caught up in the music industry and lamenting the loss of their friends and parts of their lives that they treasured or remembered deeply.

We all change, some gradually as we age and change perspective.

Some of us, however, have dramatic changes made to our lives that we have no control over and never saw coming. Consider the soldiers returning with limbs missing. In a travesty of logic you can say that they 'signed up' for the risks involved.

Walk through the children's ward of a hospital. Try telling me that they signed up for accidents that left them maimed, disfigured or blinded. Go ahead. I swear to God that I'll beat you until you spatter. And don't take the sanctimonious high road either, spouting "God's will" or some such pious nonsense.

They should teach us the rules in grade school, but nobody does. We have to figure it out on our own, and some, the 'entitled', never do.

Rule number one. Life sucks and there's nothing you can do about it. Rule number two. Life is a fatal disease. You're gonna die. Accept it. Rule number three. Getting along with people is hard. People are contrary, miserable bastards. I should know--I'm one of 'em. Collorary to rule three. You can't change a stubborn person' s mind. Be it religion, politics, holistic medicine or fashion, it's not worth the effort because you're just going to lose. Second collorary. There's no sense in getting your shorts in a knot over someone else's behavior, beliefs or attitude.

There's several coping mechanisms for this. Turn the page. Change the channel. Don't turn your cheek--turn around and walk away. If you positively have to deal with someone you regard as a moron, try to remember that the I.Q. bell curve has a bottom half for a reason. Try to have charity and patience.

Turn it around and try to take their viewpoint for a bit. Many odd behaviors are trained responses--they were taught to think that way.

There's one final response short of dropping nukes from orbit--simply tell them "You drive me crazy. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine to keep this civilized."

Where am I going with all this? Sometimes an event will hit a person with so devastating a change that it shakes their underpinnings or pulls a support out from under their beliefs, their reason for being.

I was wandering around a college science building with a laptop, pulling an inventory of printer assets while running a WiFi field strength analysis when some damned fool dumped beaker A into beaker B which promptly and enthusiastically blew the fuck up, taking out the room, the few people in it and several of the building's structural members--steel girders. I was unlucky enough to be under an I-beam when it came down. It crushed both of my femurs about three inches above the knee. If it weren't for the pressure of the girder clamping down on my legs I'm told that I would have bled out within minutes.

For a couple months there I thought that would have been the lesser of two evils. I lost about forty pounds the hard way--both legs were amputated.

As I lay in a hospital bed late one night after twinges in my stubs woke me I did some honest thinking. I got around to taking inventory. Granted, I was shorter on one end. It meant that I couldn't do my job any longer. Well, retirement at 48 wasn't such a bad thing, if you'd saved up for it. I hadn't. Since I was retired by a disability I had a few options. One, workman's comp was going to pay off my hospital fees and pay off my first wheelchair. I had a bad taste about it, but I knew that I needed more money than Social Security would hand out.

I hired Cindy, a lawyer, to help me sue the university for loss of earnings and all that went along with a new disability. I made certain to contract with her for a fixed sum, not forty percent as I'd heard some shysters practiced.

Since I knew that I was in the game for the long run I bore down on my physical therapy. I dropped a lot of weight while I pounded on my upper body strength. Doing pullups on a trapeze got easier and easier. I learned to drive my chair without needing a helmet. Falling over backwards in a wheelchair sucks buttermilk.

My apartment was not wheelchair friendly. When I rolled into the apartment complex's office they lawyer was there waiting, just salivating to serve me with an eviction notice. Then they saw my chair. I distinctly heard two voices say, "Oh, shit." I nodded. "Yup, that pretty well sums things up, doesn't it? Since this place isn't wheelchair-friendly, I need out. You gonna play nice and help out, or do I need to get my legal counsel involved?"

The lawyer turned to the manager and said, "Face it, the law's on his side. Be smart." Carol, the manager sighed and shrugged. "What can we do to help?" It floored me. They actually caved without threats!

"I can't even get up the stairs to my bedrooms like this, and packing? Packing would be a nightmare. Everything has to be packed up and stored somewhere, hopefully in a commercial warehouse facility like an environmentally controlled cage. Some stuff I'll never be able to use again, like my camping equipment, and the beds are a no-go, along with the chairs. All that can be given away. Then the place needs cleaning. By the way, the downstairs vanity sink needs rodding out."

The only way to put it was the circus came to town. All the food was given away except for the little cans of chicken. I figured that they'd last next to forever. It all got boxed up, wrapped in huge sheets of commercial Saran wrap and stored away on wood pallets. I moved out of the hospital and into a chain long-term motel. I think the place was called "Residence Inn". It was quite a bit cheaper than a hotel, even with weekly rates.

I had to sue my former employers for back pay and vacation time. They tried to "cut me off at the knees". (Bad joke, but appropriate.) Cindy got me all my back pay, my vacation pay and a hundred and twenty thousand bucks in penalties. Someone in HR had a shit sandwich for lunch for their little tricks.

The university ended up forking over almost two and a half million dollars for loss of income, retraining costs and compensation for my disability. As soon as I paid off Cindy I headed for a local Mercedes dealership. I'd seen an article about a disabled guy in Great Britain that had a small Sprinter van modified for wheelchair rear access and manual controls. I wanted one! I lucked into finding out that the dealership was in on a company-wide PR blitz. They were underwriting vehicles for the disabled nationally. I got my van with modifications for just over twenty thousand bucks--less than half of retail! I was ecstatic. I sold my old jeep for peanuts but the driving record I'd established with it got me a great insurance rate.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
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