The Long Road Home

Venti Cold Brew Black.

I’ve since removed the double shot from my morning overdose of caffeine, but the large black iced coffee is the last indulgence of a past life.

It’s only 9am and already the sun feels irrationally strong. Clear blue skies, sunny days and palm trees.

Gone are the bitterly cold winter days, the offensively humid summer afternoons, the hypoallergenic springs and the melancholy autumns. I miss them dearly.

Gone are the endless meetings, the whirring of counting machines, the 10 course dinners, the scotch stained nights, off key ballads and cottonmouth mornings. I miss them slightly.

Yesterday I built a raised vegetable box and a bench with fir wood from Home Depot. I carried sacks of ridiculously heavy organic soil and tossed them over a fence. I tilled the soil and repotted some cucumbers, tomatoes, cantaloupes and wildflowers. When all was said and done I was covered in dirt, sweat, bugs and a strange sense of satisfaction.

Despite my cliched attempts at casting off my ambitions I find myself drawn to the entrepreneurial flames yet again. It’s taken months to regain some of my footing and I am still racing against the clock and battling the darkness that threatens to put a premature end to my ressurection.

Once more unto the breach.

 

 

 

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