the good fight, part 9.

I was talking to Ryan a few days ago about the price a person pays when they decide they aren't going to work for the man no more. there is a distinct possibility the price of freedom is a trip to debtor's prison. sure, I have some money socked away and every day I think of cashing in every last dime I have to go all in. but just to get back to zero? so I guess the price a person pays for sanity is their life's savings.

there are evil shadows cast by whisper knives born of glances toward the fields of green grass yonder, on the other side. you got to find a light to burn them out.

there is a good fight that goes on against the easy impulse to be bitter and caustic and jealous and all those things that topple saints. you taste blood in your mouth every day from biting your tongue and wish you could wash it down with a really good cup of coffee for a change.

you do find ways to be thankful, and the blessings are abundant in the grand scheme, but that doesn't take the pain out of your hands and back and stomach. you have to find a way to laugh about it. and not let the songs in your head and heart die, and keep moving because you know if you stop for a moment it will probably kill you.

you've got to make every day a good one somehow.