I try and mend stress cracks of years with a week of laziness. Years of beating myself into health have achieved broken ball bearings and snapped rivets. The gravity of age shines less bright. The summit climb is steeper every year. There is no room for descent into normalcy. Brain tumors the shape of almonds work at right angles to my grip. I resigned myself to the slow submerge into the crude oil pool of obsolescence. I must grind my own bones until they break.

11:14 a.m. - 2017-08-28