Last night, restless and feeling like a badger stuck in a leg trap, I sought refuge from my mind under a neon tree. This neon tree is planted at a place called The Park Tavern, my local bar. The old wood paneling and smell of…
Well, with week two of Soburary in the books, I sense the altitude change here at the second base camp. I am half way up some imaginary mountain of “accomplishment” and clouds are still covering my destination. I can’t see the end but I know…