_vapourized_

I can't think of anything to say

My secret self comes out here. All brooding dark and melancholy. Word poetic and mired in ... loss? end? merely a strong sense of the bounded finity of it all?

Regardless, my secret self is kind of a dick.

I drift yet never travel far loop and circle drawn tight and bound to the grey-dark and dauntingly vast centre of mylife

So ...

I wake and train and ride and work and work and ride and sometimes train again and eat and sleep.

Things are good. As good as they've been in, well, forever. And the funny thing is that not everything is perfect, but the things less perfect are solid and dependable and serviceable for the time being.

So ... there's that.

All's well.

Nothing to report.

Friday

Wracked by nightmares and fevered sleep.

Nothing much to report.

Boxing every day, heavy bag setup outside, classes during the week. Fitness is coming back pretty quickly thanks to the 80 minutes of riding I do each day from work and home again.

I don't know why punching things is so therapeutic ...

Saturday night.

SG.

Awesome.
Sorta.

I have started boxing again.

And I am in agony.

It's good to be back.

I'm back ...

Account reactivated.