A Wild Duck

Chapter 1

My name isn’t really Scott Ryce.

I made that up when I ran away from home.

I was 33.

But, I gotta’ tell ya’ running away wasn’t the only option on my list of How To Get Out Of This Mess, but it left open a few more options than solution number 10, which you might be able to relate to.

Now, you also need to know that the MESS I was in was not a singular event of overwhelming magnitude. Like a lot of other messes, my MESS was an accumulation of STUFF I could no longer rationally deal with and IT brought me to a culmination of fracture and stress that compressed my corpuscles to a pimple of pain requiring relief and I just couldn’t wait any longer.

Modification was mandatory.

But, before we go any further, I want to be sure you’re not thinking, This is just another goof-head, self-suffering, cry-baby, new-ager looking for a little attention to placate some narcissistic overture to hidden pleasures. Because reality be known, partner, I’m not the only Homo Sapien experienced with a bombast of complexities testing sanity, but by-crackers, I just wasn’t going to let Myself suffer anymore. I deserved a solution and by-damn, I was gonna’ make it happen.

Urgency was a hierarchy.

But, you know, as I saw it looking back, even though getting into my MESS required very little effort at first, it produced a lot of stress at the time as complications seemed to complicate themselves over and over. And, little by little, IT reached complexities rivaling disease and treatment was required, if you know what I mean.

I needed relief.

Now to be honest with you, after a little distance and time for review I can finally diagnose and confess that the Accumulation I felt was actually fulfillment of self-infested propensity for illusion, which I would rather not admit. So, translated by self-inspection, we might conjure an observation that I had become a master of Conceit, Deceit and Bullshit.

And, yeah, now I can see that it wasn’t a pretty path. Conniving, Convincing, Conning and Contrabulation are rarely an art form commanding admiration except from equally dillusionary misfits.

But, with a touch of perspective, I confess testimony to convoluted contortions that fortified my journey to a Mess of Stress until IT became addictively self-reinforcing before I crashed.

Deceit can be deforming, I noticed.

However, recapturing the allure before my demolition derby of emotion and spirit, I remember that I sensed a High from the stories I constructed and the risks of exposure I invented. I felt Smug when one of my adventures produced the plotted achievements.

Actually, as I reveled in my fantasies, I congratulated myself for the Balance I achieved between my life as a respected provider-employee and the rewards of deviancy.

I was livin’ the Good Life laced with intrigue, flash, and intoxicating adventures with a sense of Grandeur and I felt in charge of the promotion.

I had proudly created my Heaven-On-Earth complete with stature, recognition, a modicum of riches, and a quandary of relationships. Yet, my reality was a fragile, self-promoted, magical illusion which fractured as the weight of exposure splintered my mosaic of delusion.

It was a pyramid of Illusion.

As my MESS pushed me to discover relativity between fantasy and factuality, the relief options I pondered upon measuring the depth of my personal quagmire of deception, included the normal:

1) Counseling

(2) Bankruptcy

(3) Spiritual Redemption

(4) Garage Sales

(5) Prayer

(6) Mental Reorganization

(7) Family Help

(8) Miracles

(9) Lottery Winner

and good ole’ number (10) -Suicide.

It wasn’t an all-inclusive list,

but it sufficed for panic.

But, I gotta’ tell ya’, this wasn’t the list of options I planned as my escapades developed. This wasn’t the magnificent manifestations I prepared during adventures fulfilling my fantasies of self-satisfaction. This wasn’t the outcome I fantasized during the illusionary glee I experienced from my moments of Conceit.

However, when my adventurous Success turned to depressing Stress, as the reality of my Deceit unfolded, my options coalesced to the panic and panacea of Suicide.

It was a desperate conclusion.

Yeah, I know that Suicide gets a lot of bad press as Demented’ or Ugly or Too Desperate or Selfish or Not Sane; but when a person is dealin’ with the Accumulation that massed in my mind from the complications that fermented from my Frustrations, Escape of some kind was just plain necessary.

But, while pondering the nuances of Suicide, it became quickly apparent that Suicide provided no options for creativity once executed, if you get the gist. So, preferring avenues promoting adventure and sensing pain associated with a botched Suicide, I opted for another option allowing my spirit to continue partnering with my body.

It all just pointed to Running Away as eventually the best cure for the Agony I was feeling.

I wanted to avoid Agony.

And, I figured that Running Away actually prompted some Dignity because I would be in Control.

Control produced Dignity for me.

You see, Running Away would create some Balance to my world that was tilted out-of-whack.

Balance was missing from Purpose

To my way of thinking at the time, Running Away gave me promise of Renewal.

Renewal might restore innocence.

In a sorta’ screwed up way, Running Away would uncomplicated my Complications.

Complications bred Contrabulations.

More importantly, to my compressed state, Running Away would free my Frustrations.

Frustrations tempered my fantasies.

And, best of all, Running Away would allow me to be CreAtiVe in a google kind-of-way, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, you see, CrEaTivIty had

Always been a quest of mine.

Chapter 2

You might not think I had much reason to run away from my Complications, ‘cause most folks don’t understand someone else’s problems.

Even if someone says they understand your situation – they don’t. They are just trying to make you feel better when they say they understand, while they are really thinking how screwed up you are. At the same time, hearing your situation gives them a little joy ‘cause they got their own demons swishing around in their git-up-n-go and seeing you with a little pain somehow provides them with some pleasure knowin’ they have a buddy in the misery business.

Anyway, if other folks really did understand my problems and all the crap I was dealin’ with, they would have probably just committed Suicide to get over it. All I did was Run Away.

That’s when I needed a new name. You can’t really run away and use your own name. It wouldn’t be Running Away if you did that. It would be just Hiding.

I didn’t want to just Hide. I wanted to Run Away, get away from my Accumulation, start a new Life and be Someone Else.

I was tired of my situations. I didn’t like how my Life was working. I didn’t like how I felt. I didn’t like what I was doing. I didn’t like my job-stuff. I didn’t like the way I lived. I didn’t like some of the things I did. I just didn’t like a lot of stuff in my life and it was all making me just want to sleep and not get out of bed.

That’s why I needed a new name -----------

things were just pretty fucked-up.

Chapter 3

When I had to make up a new name, I began to appreciate the making-up-a-name game. Yeah, I considered it might take some imagination and effort, but then, I discovered Inspiration during my Desperation.

You might not realize that I worked really hard to come up with the name Scott Ryce. You see, when I cogitated the new-name thing, it seemed to me that a good name was important in the run-away world. I mean, if you’re going to be somebody new, then you have to have a made-up-background that you like and a good name should go with it.

It’s kinda’ like inventing or creating yourself and making sure that your creation is certified by a jim-dandy slick label. I mean, a good product has to have catchy packaging. You can’t just go out there and throw stuff around and expect folks to like it unless you have put some brain power into it and massaged on it and sculpted it and messed with it until your creation is marketable and credible.

At least that’s how my salesman-creative-corpuscles cogitated this run-away stuff. I had to be clever about how this made-up life was going to be accepted and I sure-as-hell wasn’t gonna’ screw it up with a crappy name. I had enough screwed up stuff in my life so the name thing had to be a winner to start the run-away life out right.

I saw the name on a store sign and liked it - - the last name, that is - - Rice. But Rice didn’t look interesting enough for the way I was creating, so after several days of cogitating, I figured Ryce was the real ticket. You know, kind of like Smythe instead of Smith. It just looked like a better label and sorta’ matched my idea of the Me who wasn’t yet but would make me proud when I was.

Scott was a little trickier. I needed something easy to remember, I decided. I mean, how would it be to forget your own made-up-name? Hellsfire, that could be embarrassing. You know, I could be applying for a job and suppose I had made up the name Fitswater Ryce and I forgot Fitswater was really me and I didn’t answer right away when someone said Fitswater, come to the office at my job interview and they might think I had made it up and they probably wouldn’t give me the job because they might think there was something funny about me. People can be that way, you know.

So, Scott worked for me because it sounded good with Ryce and I was pretty sure I could remember that it was me when someone called me that. Besides, my real name started with an ‘S’ so I kinda’ figured I might not forget to answer when someone said Scott.

At least that’s how it appeared to me at that time.

Boy, it’s sure tough to change your name and remember that you’re somebody you’re not.

Chapter 4

I suppose most of the running away stuff started with Nicole. You see, Nicole was my wife.

I loved Nicole. At least I think I did. I think I did because I’m not sure --- sure about what love is, I mean.

I tried to figure it out and this

is what I ended up with:

They say love is caring more about someone else than you do for yourself. But they say you have to love yourself before you can love someone else. So, if you love yourself first, how can you care more for someone else than you do for yourself?

See what I mean about not being sure?

Anyway, my big problem with Nicole was Sandy. Sandy was the person I was having an affair with ---- not because I loved her, but because I liked her --- her personality, her laugh, her flirting, her eyes, her breasts, her butt, her sex ---. Besides, we worked together and it was easy to do things.

Nicole didn’t know about Sandy, but, I knew about Kurt.

That’s one of the reasons I ran away ---

because of Nicole and Kurt.

Chapter 5

Suicide became an option for me

when I found out about Kurt.

Before Kurt, it seemed like I was making the requisite progress in life. I had a home in the suburbs, an upper middle class job, a good lookin’ wife and a bone jumpin’ partner at work.

Nicole and I took