When I get off the phone, a true attempt at mental clarity -- it always fails.
Take a walk or jog or any well intentioned exercise a shrink suggests.
But as the walls and ceiling fans and sticky kitchen counter tops all plead a case, every part of me is picking daisies with the enemy.
A hectic place.
While I was on the ropes bouncing back from every single blow it seemed to land. My head was somewhere else, getting tickets for a rolling stop I never saw. Brian's in the shotgun and he's asks me if I'm doing fine.
I nod my head.
I'm comfortable, remiss.
I sink my hips into the bucket seat and crack my neck.
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