8 Tricks to make you a Little Less Crazy

Have you given up on sanity? No worries, sanity is overrated anyway. However, there are some ways to make you seem a little more sane. My first public work of writing was a self-help handbook. I had broken through a very dark time in my life by facing a lot of fears and unraveling a series of psychological knots in my personality. I wrote down all of the tools I had used in a small book that I sold at Maria's Hallmark shop in Middleboro, Mass. The booklet, though simple in design, caught on locally and was even presented in a high school class that addressed students who were dealing with depression.

I never considered writing any more self-help because most of my issues had been resolved. However, a friend of mine posted on Facebook that she really needed advice. She had fallen out of a relationship and was very frustrated in several areas. I always feel compelled to help my friends but I also know that most people don't listen to advice, even if they ask for it. Having said that, I started listing some tricks that I had used over the years to set my life back into order when things seemed darkest. Maybe if I put these out on the internet then people who are looking for answers will have one more place to find them.

Here are 8 Tricks to make you a little less crazy.

1. Don't Outsmart Yourself. Intelligent people do this all the time. They take a simple issue, over think it and grind it into existential drama. This is a waste of effort and energy.  It's not your job to figure out the whole world, only your part in it. Think of the Gordian knot. If a problem is huge, overwhelming and confounding, maybe you just need to take an Ax to it.

Hutch: Personally I have struggled with the modern onslaught of political propaganda. I feel the need to correct people who repeat mistaken information. Then I have to remind myself that I don't know everything and everyone has a right to their own beliefs.

2. Pick your Battles Carefully. If your Facebook feed is a long list of things you are passionately for and/or against - you might be fighting battles on every front with no resolution in sight. If you intend to rip your psyche to shreds, this is a good way of doing it. No matter how dedicated you are to justice, you cannot fight every battle! Your personal power on this planet is very limited. Use it wisely in focused efforts on a specific problem and you will make the world a better place. Using it too broadly on too many issues and you will make no discernible difference.

Superheroes on bicycles by Mike Joos

3. Do Something Mindless. Physical activity is an important key for having a happy life. It burns off energy (both emotional and physical). It gives you time away from your problems. It fills your lungs with fresh air and your brain with endorphins. Exercise gives you a primal venue for bonding with other people in a way that doesn't require intense conversation. Running, rowing, skating, surfing, pick your passion! The benefits are innumerable.

Hutch: Personally I prefer cycling. In all of its amazing forms this activity can provide a whole new lifestyle for those who choose it. If you are interested in learning more check out my cycling blog: Bog Dogs Secret Stash.

4. Make Yourself Uncomfortable. Day to day life can stagnate us. We have to do the laundry and the dishes, cook our meals, pay our bills...etc. Our routines make the mundane easier to handle but those same routines might keep us from getting out of the house to try new things. Broadening your horizons is an awkward process. It forces us to expand our comfort zone by feeling uncomfortable. You need to break out because you will never find rewarding experiences hiding under your pillow cushions.

5. Listen to Others (For Real!). Listening doesn't mean you are sitting there developing your own counter-argument and waiting for the moment when you spring it on them. It means you take their advice, jot it down if you have to, and try some of it. Be experimental. Other people might have learned something before you did. That's nothing to be ashamed of. By listening to their experience you don't have to fall into the crocodile pit. They could tell you where it is at and how wide it is so you can jump right over.

Hutch: Personally I'm a stubborn individual who usually reinvents the wheel no matter what arena I enter. Having said that, I'm learning to geek out on more information from others before making my decisions.

6. Find Someone to Love. Don't look for someone to love you. Find someone who deserves to be loved and love them more than you love yourself. Nothing on this earth will make you happier or more fulfilled. To clarify - you are not supposed to sacrifice yourself for a relationship. That is not what it means to love. If you are trying to give more than you have, that will bankrupt you. That's not love, that is martyrdom. Also, if you are giving with the expectation of return, that is also not love, it is bartering.

7. Reserve Judgement. Notice that I didn't say don't judge. Judging other people and ideas is a necessary part of making smart decisions. What I recommend is that you reserve judgement. Don't compartmentalize or dichotomize humans or ideas. This is the shades of grey reality we all live in but don't like to acknowledge because it's easier to get stuck on a label than to hold your tongue. Anyone you meet will have both good and bad traits. Any idea will have good and bad merits.

Hutch: Personally I have never met a label I didn't hate. Some of the people I admire most are individuals who didn't give a very good first impression. It was only later that I learned about the meaningful moments and selfless acts that made them so valuable to society.

8. Change your Personal Narrative. We all have definitions for how we deal with the world. Repeated failures are merely signals that we need to edit them a little, change a few perspectives that are not working for us. Failure doesn't mean you are a bad person, it means you mis-read a small part of reality. Now you have a chance to use your delete key. You are the lead character in your story so take another path, create a new identity. Send your character on a journey that is even bolder than the original.

Granted it takes more than a blog article to change your life but it can be a good place to start. I read a couple hundred self-help books and held onto a few tid-bits of useful knowledge that got me along a better path. More important than anything, don't be too hard on yourself. You can't control how you were brought into this world. You didn't get to pick your family or your level of wealth but as an adult you get to make daily decisions that affect your path forward.

Since forward is the only direction we have left, make the best of it. Sincerely, Hutch.

Dumb and Dumber: More than a Movie

I will admit to being one of those people who are easily influenced by movies, even bad movies. Back in the winter of 1994 when the movie Dumb & Dumber hit the theaters, my life was in a little bit of a rut. I was a big Jim Carrey fan and really needed a good laugh so I went to see it.

If you don't know the plot it is rather simple. Lloyd Christmas (Jim Carrey) and Harry Dunne (Jeff Daniels) are a couple single guys in their twenties living in Providence, Rhode Island. They are down on their luck in large part because they are not very bright. Lloyd, working as a limo driver, picks up a pretty lady named Mary Swanson (Lauren Holly) who loses her bag in the airport but Lloyd scoops it up and decides to deliver it to her... in Aspen, Colorado. This sets the stage for a wild and crazy road trip across the country where hilarity ensues.

The critics kicked it pretty hard by stating that it was little more than a collection of slapstick jokes, pranks and exploited stereotypes designed for a cheap laugh. On the better side some recognized that there was more going on underneath the guilty pleasure of scatological humor. What critics couldn't know was what the movie meant to people like me.

Rewind to my life in the winter of 1994. My friend Derek and I were sharing a one room apartment with a broken heater that sat above a pizza shop in downtown Middleboro, Massachusetts. Neither one of us had a home to go home to, we were rejected by our families and had to scrounge to survive. Derek was driving a snow plow on those rare occasions when a drift collected and I was delivering lunches for a gourmet shop two towns away. Our meals came in the form of fast food or were cooked on a camper sized twin burner on the counter. I've had some very tough times in my life and this definitely belongs in the top ten.

Watching Dumb & Dumber was like looking at our lives from an outsiders point of view. Lloyd and Harry are destitute outcasts. They both have menial driving jobs, they're living in a crap apartment and their dreams, silly as they might be, are falling apart.

For me this movie became more than just a comedy when the two men hit the ultimate low point. Both become unemployed and for once looked clearly at their lives to see that it's just not happening for them. In the midst of this heart felt awakening came the lines that hit me the hardest. The words of Lloyd's epiphany rung in my ears, "I've had it with this dump!" "What the hell are we doing here?" "We've got to get out of this town!" Then finally the three sentences that made the biggest impact on me, "I'm sick and tired having to eek my way through life. I'm sick and tired of being a nobody. Worst of all, I'm sick and tired of having nobody." I had to hold back the tears.

Before you fall into characterizing me as a sentimental fool, let's talk about what it means to be dumb and what it means to be unstable. For some reason these terms are often misunderstood.

I grew up believing that when someone is unstable that it means they have something wrong with their brain. It implies a character flaw or a psychological disorder. What I have come to understand over the years is that being unstable demands a literal meaning. If you don't have a stable home, stable family life, the social or emotional bonds that develop one into a well rounded, empathetic human being that's when you should more accurately be characterized as unstable. An unstable person is someone without support, a person truly alone in the world. They didn't piss away their fortune, they simply never had one to begin with.

Now a word about being dumb. People who meet me now just assumed that I have a college degree. They assume that someone who has written several books and several hundred articles must have been great in school, especially English. The truth is that I was terrible in school. I got my first D in the 6th grade and after that I never organized myself for the disciplines of scholarly life. All my early assessment tests placed me in the median range at best. At 15 years old I took the ASVAB test and scored a dismal 28. At 19 years old I took it again and still only scored a 49. I didn't even qualify for full time military service - not smart enough. It took another decade of self guided study to earn the adjectives associated with intellect.

So there I was at 21 years old living in that tiny apartment with my friend Derek. I was not smart and I was not stable. I had a terrible job that barely paid 50 dollars a week. I was a night school graduate and a college drop out. I felt no brighter than those characters on the big screen because I probably wasn't.

So after the epiphany, Lloyd and Harry agree to go on this epic road trip. Here were two guys who had clearly never left New England, breaking out on an adventure across the country. They had nothing more than a dog shaped van, a paper map, a pocket full of petty cash and a briefcase. None of that really mattered because for once they had a sense of direction.

It couldn't have been more than a few days later when my boss, Shauna, requested that I learn how to work in the shop helping to make the sandwiches that I would later deliver. At the time I was working for a set fee per delivery with tips added. I thought I was getting a promotion so I asked about pay. She said there would be no extra pay. Excuse me? She wanted me to do more work, more time, more effort, more hours for no additional money. She implied that I should be grateful for having a job at all.

If there was one thing I have always had, it is dignity. No one steps on me. Unfortunately when you accept part time jobs many employers think of you as undeserving. So I took my final paycheck in cash and drove away. It wasn't really about the work, it was about my then meaningless life. I couldn't do this anymore, "Eek by." I didn't want to drive back to the apartment so instead I parked at the edge of Woods pond and forced myself to make a decision. After skipping rocks along the ice for an hour I had made up my mind - I was leaving Middleboro tonight!

Was Dumb and Dumber just a silly movie about comedians doing anything for a laugh or was it about aspiration? Here were two guys with no means and no support who enjoyed every second of their lives. It was about breaking out of the comfort zones we were born into. It was about striving for something better even when it feels like you have no chance in hell of making anything happen.

Lloyd and Harry travel across the country and climb the mountains into Aspen where they end up discovering that the briefcase they were carrying all along was filled with money. You can call it an easy plot twist but I prefer to see it as a metaphor for the unexpected riches that come from chasing your dreams. Sure there is a secondary plot surrounding a kidnapping and a bunch of bad guy characters who are after the money but that stuff is just filler.

I believe that a movie becomes art when it inspires you to action. Thanks to Dumb & Dumber I broke free from my freezing one room apartment and drove my car 1,500 miles to Florida. This trip provided a huge confidence boost that allowed me to start living on a higher level. I would return to Florida several times over the years. I met my future wife there, got married in Punta Gorda and ended up staying as a full time resident. And we lived happily ever after...

Middle School Student Arrested

"You thought it was a real gun." Jeremy stood in the doorway, a goofy bemused expression on his pot marked face.

  I stood behind the teachers desk in an otherwise empty room looking down at the revolver, still confused by the small flicker of flame dancing on the end of the snub nosed barrel.

  "It's a lighter you retard." He studied my awkwardness and started developing conclusions, "What were you gonna do if it was real?"

  My confusion made way for embarrassment. I dropped the fancy cigarette lighter back into the teachers top drawer and slammed it shut. Movement in the hallway motivated me back to my desk but Jeremy just stood there, the gears in his mind ticking away.

  "Who were you gonna shoot Hutch?"

  "None of your business, shut up!" I could barely contain my disappointment but it paled in comparison to my new fear - that Jeremy would talk. Gossip was becoming an unforgiving enemy and this would spread like wildfire. "You better not tell anyone Jeremy."

  "Oh? And what are you gonna do to me Hutch? You gonna shoot me with a lighter?" He started to chuckle, the flab of his belly bouncing in time, "Then you gonna stab me with a spork? Huh?"

  "I will do something..." The powerlessness of my situation was becoming evident as my imagination stumbled over unrealistic options. There was nothing that could stop him from talking and why wouldn't he? The benefit of gossip is social interaction. By judging me he would receive attention from other students and enjoy a surge in public popularity. I, on the other hand, would fall further in contempt and rise only in suspicion.

  "You'll do what?" Just then the students started pouring back into the room.

  "I'll stop you..." I said under my breath.

  All that evening sleep had eluded me. It was the first night I could recall where my nerves kept me from feeling any sense of tiredness, where my fear of the next school day bore into my heart like a rusty screw. After a couple hours of watching old movies on my black and white TV, I shut it off and pulled out a notebook. On one page after another I wrote down every nasty thing I could think to say about Jeremy Jones. My words mocked his hygiene, his clothing, his family, his acne. I accused him of numerous minor crimes, keeping it insidious yet realistic. I copied page after page naming him as a pervert and a druggie. There was no proof of any such things but I didn't care. I needed to discredit him before he humiliated me.

  The next morning when Mrs. Steed, my homeroom teacher, asked for a student to deliver a message to the front office, I weakly volunteered.

  "Are we participating Mr. Hutchinson?" I merely shrugged. Bypassing her initial surprise, she sent me out the door with a folder.

  The office was empty. The secretary was busy in the next room when I placed the folder on her desk and that was when an opportunity presented itself. The teachers received their in house messages using a series of cubby holes that lined the wall next to the front desk. Each hole had a teacher's name where they picked up their mail. With no one present, I pulled out the slanderous papers I had written about Jeremy the night before and tucked each one into different random slot. I ran out before anyone saw me. My heart was racing as I walked quickly back to my homeroom.

  For half the day I prayed not to get caught. I didn't sign the paper or leave any indication that I wrote it. When no one came looking for me and no one mentioned the gun, I figured the plan had worked. In fact, the day had become suspiciously quiet as if there was something going on but no one knew exactly what.

  When Lunch let out, a crowd had gathered at the doorway between the cafeteria and the front doors. Two policemen stood inside the front office talking to our short, puffy faced principal while hovering over a single student who sat head down in the chair beneath them, it was Jeremy.

  "What did he do?" I asked no one in particular.

  A red haired, freckle faced girl answered, "Someone narced on him. They told the teachers that he had drugs in his locker. That's what I heard."

  At first this seemed unrelated to my scheme. I didn't know Jeremy had drugs in his locker and I certainly didn't write that in the notes. Then again, amongst many other unflattering terms I did call him a druggie. Perhaps the teachers took it literally.

  This type of search and seizure was unprecedented at our middle school, the first of its kind. Drugs had not yet become a common subject so the thought of a 12 year old carrying them seemed preposterous. Yet, Jeremy was caught red handed for possession of marijuana. That day he was taken away by the police. He suffered a very public expulsion and received a mark on his juvenile record.

  More importantly, to me anyway, was that the incident with the fake gun was never mentioned to anyone. I was off the hook thanks to a well timed piece of slander. For the second time my written words had displayed the ability to affect the world around me. It was a skill that was becoming useful even if I didn't fully understand its power.

Brotherhood of Chaos

"Throw it to Hutch." The red dodgeball soared across the tarmac during recess and I snatched it from the air. I wasn't brave enough to deliver a clever rebuke but I was angry enough to chuck the ball into the woods. A teacher reprimanded me for the act but he didn't know what was really going on.

  The game was called 'Kill the kid with the ball.' Whoever caught the ball would have to run for his life as everyone else chased him down. It was organized by the newly self-proclaimed Brotherhood of Chaos, the first gang at our middle school. These brothers weren't related, they just lived in the same apartment building together and liked to cause mayhem whenever they could. So far they were responsible for shooting a BB rifle at a classroom window during midday studies, climbing on the school roof and they were the back-up squad who encouraged my ex-best friend Dale to beat me up at the high school field.

  One of their goons retrieved the ball and found an easier target.

  "Jason caught it." We had a new kid in class. He had a short, blonde mohawk and a general lack of fear. Jason knew the rules but still he caught the ball and ran. He twisted past the jungle gym and jumped the see saw before someone finally threw him to the grass. They tried to hold him down for the intended beating but he scrambled to his feet and fought his way out. Surprised by his tenacity, the brothers backed off.

  "Blondie thinks he's a tough guy." They deliberated out loud so other students could hear.

  "He should prove it." One of them decided.

  They invited him into their confidence, "Listen dude, you've got spirit. We think you could be a brother of chaos."

  Jason might have been fearless but he wasn't stupid. It was a new school and he wanted to fit in, or at least not make enemies on his first day, "What do I have to do?"

  "See that kid over there." They pointed at me. "Kick his ass and you'll be one of us."

  The incongruity between my bold self-image and my actual abilities made it impossible for me to back down. Jason wasn't bigger than me. He didn't appear to have any special skills or strengths. His lack of fear might mean that he would underestimate me. It was a risk worth taking.

  We stared each other down for what felt like forever but was probably no more than ten seconds. The brothers egged us on and then it happened. Instead of freezing in place like I did against Dale, I attacked. The two of us became a blur of grabbing faces and throwing punches. We almost immediately landed on the grass in an awkward wrestling match that was quickly broken up by the teachers.

  "You two knock it off!" We were separated and sent in different directions. "Jason, try to stay out of trouble." Then he turned to me, "Alex, you can head back to your homeroom and wait for class to resume."

  I welcomed the escape from recess. Crossing the basketball court I re-entered the rear door of the sixth grade wing and returned to my room. Before reaching my desk I decided to test a theory. Mrs. Steed, my homeroom teacher, usually kept her top desk drawer locked but maybe, just maybe she forgot.

  I snuck around the desk, listened for movement in the hallway and then gently tugged on the drawer. It opened easily. Moving aside her copy of the school poetry book I saw my prize. I slowly gripped and lifted the snub nosed revolver. It was heavy and shiny. I felt a jolt of excitement shudder through my veins. The Brotherhood of Chaos was in for a big surprise. Now I had a way to even the score with so many people.

  My heart was racing, my nerves were on edge as I stroked this new found power. When the bell rang to signal the end of recess I was so surprised by the sudden loud noise that my hand flinched causing me to accidentally pull the trigger.

The Smell of Fear

  "Give me my hat!" Charlie and Don were tossing my winter cap back and forth like it was a football. I was forced in the middle of this game of keep away, unable to stop it. It was an old trick used for decades by bullies but on that day it was new to me and it was infuriating.

  "What are you gonna do Hutch? Fall on the ground and cry about it?" The incident at the high school field with Dale didn't bother me half as much as the lies and gossip that followed. The prevailing story about our fight was that I was a coward who chickened out until three "Friends" tricked me out of my house. They dragged me to the field where Dale beat me into the ground. According to numerous accounts I curled up in a ball and cried like a baby. My side of the story was irrelevant.

  "Charlie! You have three seconds!" I stopped playing their game and started walking towards one kid. If he wanted to see tears so badly, perhaps this was the time for redemption. Charlie could see the fire in my eyes. I probably wasn't a threat but I felt like it. I wanted to be fearsome.

  "Here, have it." Charlie caught the hat and threw it in a mud puddle then stepped on it as they both ran away. I went to reach for the knit cap but it was drenched and disgusting. It was there I learned that kids are like dogs. They can smell fear. They can sense weakness and they mercilessly exploit it.

  Had it just been Charlie and Don, I wouldn't have cared that much but the violence was expanding. It felt like everyone was sniffing for a fight. Another former friend pushed me when we were walking home from school. I pushed him back so he punched me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. In history class the kid who sat behind me kept kicking my seat. I told him to stop. In between classes he held me against the green board and slapped me with an eraser until I was covered with chalk. I couldn't stop either of them. My mind imagined winning fights but in real life my body was awkwardly thin and weak even for someone my age.

  The final blow came when a girl named Lisa, who had physically matured early, decided that she too was stronger than I. She manhandled me in an effort to prove it. I was more confused than hurt. I was told never to hit a girl so even though she was larger and stronger I didn't fight back. She slammed me repeatedly into the air conditioners below the school windows as other students cheered her on. It was then that the teacher returned.

  "Mr. Hutchinson, what are you doing?"

  "Um, I don't...she..."

  "Lisa, was he bothering you?"

  "Yes Mrs. Steed." She replied respectfully, "Alex thought he was better than me."

  "So you felt the need to prove him wrong." There was snicker from the class. "Get in your seat."

  I was returning to my desk, overwhelmed by a sense of humiliation but I was also feeling something else. Something new was growing inside me, a primal resolve, a twisted sickness born of injustice.

  "Mr. Hutchinson, come to the front of the class." Why! Why me? Never before in my short life had I felt this way. It was like a clawed hand was squeezing my heart making me want to scream. To roar at anyone, everyone, for anything! I needed to rip away the veil of shyness and perception of weakness that made me a target for their cruelties. I was feeling rage and the more desperate I became, the stronger it grew.

  I stood before her desk with the sound of blood pumping in my ears. Mrs. Steed spoke with dull authority, a warning perhaps, I'm not sure. My eyes had locked on an item of greater importance. In the open top drawer of her desk, next to the poetry book that started all of this trouble, there lay an item I had spied once before. Back then I wasn't sure if it was real but now, in clear sight I could see the handgun. I didn't know teachers could keep handguns in their desks. I wasn't sure why she had it but I knew that I needed it. I was absolutely certain that a gun would solve all of my problems. Now I just had to find a way to steal it.

A Bizarro Defeat

For a split second the world was spinning. My back hit the ground with a force that crushed my lungs pushing the air out of my mouth in one involuntary gush. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. Above me the sky was blue and cloudless until the shadows of five kids leaned in to look down at me. Then one of them put his shoe on my chest.

  "Face it Hutch, you got what you deserved." The sad thing is, he was right.

  The poetry contest affirmed a part my identity that I didn't even know existed. I spent weeks bragging about my victory with the foolish assumption that I was smarter, superior to those who didn't make the cut. Imagination swept me out of reality like a tornado fueled by the all consuming power of ego. It didn't take long for other kids to get fed up.

  During that decade of macho exuberance we all looked up to the loudest voices on the screen. Reagan, Arnold, Sly and Chuck repeated the mantra of might makes right. Adults were settling disputes with violence and us kids wanted to emulated the adults so we followed suit. There were a few of whom I half expected to challenge me to a fight but it ended up being someone I did not expect.

  "You and me at the High School field, today after school. Think you're the better man? Prove it!" Dale had been my best friend since I was six. We hung out, we played and we fought. Most of the time our scuffles were private but this time the chip on his shoulder was being propped up by a new group of supporters. He wanted to shut me up but they wanted to instigate the chaos of a public beating.

  "Fine, see you there." I have no idea why I accepted the challenge. I really didn't know how to fight. I'd lost most of the childhood wrestling matches that spontaneously occurred in those early years. Dale was the better man. He stood a little taller than me, he was a little stronger and a lot more clever. If I was Clark Kent, Dale was Bizarro Superman.

  When school let out, the nerves set in. Bravado was beginning to blister. My stomach was twisting in knots, I felt sick. I couldn't do it. I went straight home and hoped the whole thing would be forgotten.

  "Alex, your friend Dale is at the door." He had the audacity to come to my home, polite as can be.

  "So, are you coming to the High School?" His half smile projected pure confidence. I just wanted to stab him with a shard of Kryptonite certain it was the only thing that could crack his smile. I was also sure his new friends were waiting outside. If I walked out that door, they would all jump me.

  "No. I'm not going. You win." There was no point in arguing. This was my way of admitting defeat but he wasn't accepting my bail out.

  "You can't hide in your house forever." When he walked away I saw the chaos crowd standing in my front yard but how long would they wait? I locked the door and ran to the front window to peek through the curtains.

  "Alex, who are you watching?" I told my mother about the fight but like most parents during the 1980s, no one took these things seriously. Her contention was that, "You guys are friends, you'll work it out."

  Her words were both naive and comforting. Could it be that simple? Was this just another scuffle between buddies or had we finally graduated to the age of of blood and scars? Ten minutes later there was another knock at the door. I puffed up my chest and answered it.

  "Hey Hutch, we heard you are fighting Dale today. We're here to back you up!" My friends had come to my rescue and they were ready to rumble.

  "You think I can win?"

  "We know you can. Let's go." So it began, the longest walk of my life. In the back of my mind I was hoping that my opponent got bored and wandered off. The four of us traveled a mere two blocks to the High School where Dale and his buddies were patiently waiting. We all met in the middle of the field.

  "Good job guys, you got him to come." Dale's bizarro grin threatened to exceed the width of his face. He had gotten my own friends to betray me. I was surrounded by my peers and yet I was more alone than ever. There was no way to back out. This fight was going to happen.

  We stood toe to toe, face to face in the middle of the crowd. It all became surreal as a swirling chorus broke out, "Fight, fight, fight." I imagined throwing a punch or a kick, something, anything but my limbs would not move. This moment felt like it would last forever and in my distraction he grabbed me.

  My feet left the earth, my body hit the ground. The sky, the sun, the shadows looking down. A foot stepped on my chest, spit hit the grass next to my head. Vicious, degrading taunts were unleashed and then, suddenly, they were gone. As they walked away I heard a suggestion that they, "Go back and stomp him into the ground." I scrambled to my feet, every breath a painful effort but I needed to escape.

  You'd think that I would have learned my lesson, that the bragging would stop, the ego reigned in. Not even close. I lacked the self-awareness to know that I was in the wrong. Instead of being humbled by my defeat, I was already planning my revenge.

  

The Accidental Poet

  

"Mr. Hutchinson? Where are your poems?" Her sharp, screech like voice popped the bubble of my imagination. Even as early as the sixth grade I was lost in thought more often than not. Thanks to oncoming puberty some of the images were becoming more distracting than usual. As a result I was starting to perform poorly in school.

  "Your poems?" Mrs. Steed was a scary woman. At nearly six feet tall she always looked down on her students like she was readying her beak to snatch out our eyeballs and eat them. She reminded me of the Skeksis creatures from the Dark Crystal movie. There I was cringing in my chair like a helpless Gelfling.

  "I forgot..."

  "You forgot to write them?" She appeared ready to pounce. Was I about to loose a retina?

  "I forgot... that I left them in my locker." It was a quick, feeble lie but I was desperate.

  "Well then, go get them." With her long reptilian finger she pointed to the door.

  I escaped to the hallway, making sure never to show too much fear. I opened my locker and pulled out an empty notebook. The truth is that I had completely blown off the assignment. Poems were stupid! Why did everyone have to write them? Worse yet, why did the school feel it necessary to dedicate an entire book to them? That is what this assignment was all about. Each student was supposed to submit three poems with the hope that one of them will be good enough to be published. Personally I could care less but for fear of being put in a cage and poked with sticks, I scribbled as fast as I could.

  "Here they are." I handed over the paper hoping she wouldn't notice the fresh ink. I had written all three poems off the top of my head, printed them on a single page and signed the bottom.

  Her glance betrayed suspicion but she accepted it and sent me away. We agreed on one philosophy - done is done. You can't force quality, honesty or timeliness, you can only affect a result.

  Three months passed by without a word. Then one day at the end of class Mrs. Steed called me to her desk. As the other students filed out, we were left alone. I swallowed hard and waited.

  "Your poems..." She seemed stuck, like she was biting the word instead of letting it leave her mouth. "Well... congratulations Mr. Hutchinson."

  "Thank you?" I asked shyly, "For what?"

  "They were published." Her eyes pierced my veil of confusion. "No one told you?"

  "Ah, no. Which one?" This didn't seem possible. I didn't put more than five minutes worth of work into them, my poems couldn't possibly be any good.

  "All of them Mr. Hutchinson. All of them were published." That's when I noticed that she had a copy of the book on her desk. I waited for her to hand it over so I could see but she stopped me cold. She slid it in her top drawer covering something metal, something shiny. Then she shut the drawer and locked it. "You might want to ask a friend." Her grimace was probably unintended, Skeksis always look bitter even when they try to smile.

  Out in the hallway my awareness had peaked. Everyone was walking around carrying a copy of the book, bragging about the poem they got publish. Poem, singular but she said all of mine were used.

  "Good job Alex," said a fellow student of whom I have never spoken to before.

  "Nice poems buddy," commented another. He said poems.

  "Hi Alex." Regina said hi to me. Oh my God! The prettiest girl in town. The athletic, blonde haired, blue eyed dream of middle school acknowledged my existence. If I had died right then and there, my life would have been complete. What magical powers existed in these rhymes?

  I wandered the hallway accepting praise from half a dozen more people before finding a friend who showed me the book. All three poems had been published and everyone had read them, including and especially the girls. This was a revelation! I had always been a shy kid. I had always been quiet, invisible in the background but now everyone knew my name and I had a talent. I had found my calling. I was a poet.

  Wait a minute, I'm a poet? That's not what I wanted to be, it's not even on the list. Back then I knew that my imagination was a tool, no, it was weapon. Being a poet was out of the question, I was destined for far bigger things. This event was a fluke, it was a mistake. I was sure of it.