May 28, 2020

Confession of a Professional Weightlifter

Y'all. I'm tired – like, knees-ache-just-sittin'-here tired,
like, I-can't-carry-my-own-bodyweight tired, let alone
your troubles. This, and my eyelids feel heavy. This,
the burden of expectations –legitimate and otherwise–
the burden of history, the burden of all the tiny wrong
choices that have built up over time, each one a fine
speck of silt settled behind the dam, adding an almost
infinitesimal pressure – almost; each one an ant, whose
body with all the other insect bodies outweighs all the
human bodies, combined, many times over. I'd like to
just get over this, but it's all I can do to get out of bed.