Instructions..

First thing that comes to mind: printed matter within a box of a new toy, gadget, table, chair, swing set, virtually anything that's reasonably big - broken down, stuffed into a box like a size 38 waist in a pair of size 34 jeans.

Parts. All kindsa parts. Labeled. Mebbe even in separate baggies. The hardheaded among us, "I don't need no stinking instructions" - rush off to assemble - and soon, the rectangular table looks more triangular, simply because we've screwed 'B" into "D" - insteada following the instructions.

As a child, instructions abound. Sign, sign, everywhere a sign. Of course - school, our teachers - their instructions. Cub Scouts, Brownies, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Swim lessons, Little League, Karate' - instructions. For most, life is easy - 'assemble' it one step at a time.

Non-conformists no likey instructions. Seems they take two paths: prison, or brilliance. Us other wet-behind-the-ears, mostly instruction abiding folks manage along the way until schooling ends, and the real world hits.

So, insteada having a teacher, we pick a mate. Two heads are better than one eh? For many, this goes well - and lasts long into life until we reach the stage we forget every damn thing we've ever been instructed on.

Some, in the two-heads-are-better setup, soon learn that one thrives in being the instructor - ultimately giving hives to the instructee. Divorce happens, and once again back to square one with no instructions.

The world is wondrous in that, justabout the time one figures out how to be 20 (or 30, 40, 50, 60, etc) - 30 (or 40, 50, 60, etc) happens. We are poor little lambs who have lost our way, baa, baa, baa.

There are no instructions for divorce. Illness. Depression. Obesity. Unemployed. Underemployed. Being disabled. Even for being quite healthy and alone. Even GPS ain't perfect. Sometimes we even cuss at Google "NO, NO, NO - that's NOT what I want!"

Friends help. Family helps. Smiles help. Happy helps. Experience helps, but then again you run into the 30-turning-40, 40-turning-50, yada thing again.

Saw an email the other day outlining stages: Age 4, not peeing your pants. Age 12, having friends Age 16, driver's license. Age 20, having sex. Age 30, money. Age 50, money. Age 60, being able to have sex. Age 70, having friends. Age 75, having your license. Age 80, not peeing in your pants. It's all one big cycle - with no printed matter to help us along the way.

Follow the yellow brick road. Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. DIY. Drink more Ovaltine. You put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up. "Get more exercise, and watch your diet." Uh huh, sure. Thanks doc.

Sign Sign everywhere a sign
Blocking out the scenery breaking my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign.
(Except for when it comes to knowing how to live. All these 'parts.' No labels. No baggies filled with stepping stones for the path. No longer even the two-heads-are-better-than-one except for the one who doesn't agree with that.)

We're little black sheep who have gone astray, baa, baa, baa.

Stayed here too long, gotta run, sorry. "Siri, take me to __________, zip 64068" "Unable to find destination." Shit. Baa, baa, baa. Love, Victurd.