Eyes open. Feel like I got hit by a car. And a baseball bat.
Longtime readers begin to recall the innumerable posts on this topic. Actually, I took the painkillers my doctor prescribed despite my reservations and they put me into a catatonic state after I stopped by the T.E.A. party rally near the capitol. Dreamed strange dreams of twisting and turning skyscrapers that became tentacles and reached into space.
Heading out of town to see my buddy Dr. J this weekend and to support my teammates fighting on the card I was supposed to be on.
Days pass. Time dies. We make the same choices. Rats in a maze of our own design. Mice on rotating stationary wheels.
I can't start training again just yet. I am chomping at the bit yet I needed a break. Blowing out my side, bruising my kidney, pissing blood, and tearing my core was a symptom of how long I'd been training to fight again. C'est le fuckin' vie. I can barely maintain my mania. The lust for late nights out and deep journeys into the brink assails my thoughts. Online gaming and bad network television provide little reprieve.
Back to tryin' to be the man she deserves. But, like pops told me long ago, "tryin' ain't doin'." Good luck and happy hunting ladies and gentlemen. I bid thee well. -With Greatest Affection