Some 22 years ago, I penciled these words over an ugly mug of coffee:

Amid life, within gray walls,
Nameless days pass uncounted.
The promise of the morrow
Breaks as a poor yesterday.

As I pluck out these letters, I'm drawn to these texts from an old record: "Distanced from one, blind to the other" and "These are the eyes that I want you to remember."

I'm weary. I reach up to scratch my right delts only to find an undiscovered numbness to toss into the rest of the broken box...

...well, damn my body. I suspect it's high time to slap this rig silly and train like that man on fire. Take your pick whether its Bruce from The 13th Expedition: Of Yachts & Speedboats or Oh the Larceny from The 36th Expedition: Mortal Kombat.

As I lay here, my Garmin lets me know I'm at 125 bpm. For whatever its stress tracker is worth, it contends I've only had 15 minutes of medium stress today. The other 12 hours and 57 minutes? All high.

Your stress level is 89 out of 100.

You have almost no restful moments today. Stress consumes your body's resources. If you are stressed for long periods of time, you may become exhausted. Your stress level is determined by your recorded stress reactions throughout the day.

How do I apply my current status? Between what I expect is a raging fire of an inflammatory response and stress—two big players for the game—my weighin numbers on April 14 are just gonna be underwhelming. Might have to shelve that 213-215 lbs expectations that parallel the fireworks of last July.

I'm just...tired of it all. A world gone mad.

I am the Patron Saint of Lost Causes
A fraction of who I once believed
Change, only a matter of time
Opinions, I will try and rewrite

Anberlin