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Message-ID: <61800asstr$1325643001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Nuke Danger <nukedanger@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {RV} Dropping A Stitch (nosex timetr)
Lines: 131
Date: Tue, 03 Jan 2012 21:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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GentleBeings,

Please note that I have revised this story and would prefer the revision be
posted to ASSM.

Thank you.

-nukie

                   Dropping A Stitch
                by Nuke Danger, 3rd Aye


Y'know, until I woke up in my own sixteen year-old
body in the house-hold of my childhood I had dreamt
of such an occurrence, inspired by a whole gamut of
stories.

The idea of somehow returning to the past with most
of your knowledge intact-- along with the more adult
point of view borne by experience-- has inspired
more folks than I'd care to name right now to write
stories about all of the advantages.

Sadly, many of the authors have, despite their
efforts to show how turning a new leaf helped their
protagonists somehow make a "better" life, did
seem like they suffered from myopia.

Oh, sure, I was able to drop into the role of
playing myself as a teen-ager, not that I thought
I was doing a good job of being "me".  I had to
doubt the few people who paid me any attention in
my family of origin, neighborhood or even at
school noticed that I wasn't playing the class
clown any longer as I decided to just get on with
life.

I suspect that my high-school "crush"-- who likely
knew of my existence but felt I was more of a
stalker than admirer-- felt some relief when I no
longer paid her any attention.  There were few
people in my life at that age that I paid _any_
attention to so few people would notice any
change in who I paid attention to.

By the same token my desperate efforts to *get*
attention-- usually through half-witted efforts
at puns, jokes, etc-- slacked off.  I doubt if
anyone excepting my teachers noticed this change
much less my relaxed attitude in classes.

I _did_ do better in Math this time around, but
I'd forgotten all but a tiny useless fraction of
the French I had taken in High School.  This time
around I was no better at absorbing a "foreign"
language;  There were times I was ready to inflict
Bruce Willis' line about speaking two languages
from "Fifth Element" on the class but I'd come
to realize it would not be particularly funny
in the here-and-now.

Adapting to the jump from 2014 to the stone
knives and bear-skins technology of 1970 was
not what I would call comfortable.  Nothing on
TV was new enough for me to care about and, during
my first pass in life, I had already torn through
most of the "interesting" sci-fi authors available.

Day to day my new life went on, not being any
more fun than it had been the first time around.
About the only saving grace was being able to
avoid even "trivial" mis-steps with my family
and what passed for friends in the neighborhood
through 20-20 hindsight.  That hindsight didn't
help as much with the *new* mistakes I was
making but having an "adult" viewpoint allowed
me to recognize a mistake quickly enough to start
mitigation before snowballing into complete disaster.

I'll admit that watching my "fellow" high-school
students in their darwinian mating dances, while
amusing, did nothing for the *real* problems with
my instant re-play.

I had been nearing 60 when my first pass at life
had ended before I'd awakened for a second pass.
I had an extra forty-two years of life experience
over my "peers", including thirty years of marriage
and raising three children who, in that future,
hadn't made good choices.  Looked at dispassionately
my competence as a parent fell far shorter than I
liked.

So here I stood, my body all of sixteen years of
age, a new life ahead of me, and I knew I was
already half-crippled by the emotional scarring
and experiental land-mines left over by not just
my childhood, but the life-time I'd already lived.

Making this situation worse than it already seemed
was having to wait at least two years before I
could legally get hold of the tools I had used
forty two years in the future to end my life, this
time, at least, I could abort my life without
having made anyone else as miserable as I had the
first time.

In some ways it was comforting to think that I
could make an exit long before I would have, in
my first time through, met the woman I married
and become the bane of her existence.

And then, the ultimate irony struck me:

How could I be sure the clock wouldn't get reset
*again*?

-- 
"We all value pleasure in life but it is pain that sets the exchange rate"
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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