I had punished myself this morning as I often do. Three times per week my twitching skin matched the uncertain wishes of the early, purple sky. No longer was my stock beholden to the chipped clanging of the heavy dumbbells. I preferred straps and handled bands to the flecked iron that pledged itself to my sticky face. The harder I pulled or the longer I pushed, the elastic resistance grew more taught, matching the constrictions of every muscle that was up for promotion or renewal. I had no idea why the cause was so dear, most fanatics never do. I felt ill and gullible during and after every exercise–that I was also becoming terrified as I mentally prepped my body on its day of rest, made me a humbled, amateur fellow. There was no need to lie to the self-appointed council, even if the folly was benign or accidental, I always knew that eventually the incarceration would be over and the equipment would once again be stowed from sound philosophy and redundant sight. Upon completion, I promised to retaliate inside the living and make peace with an affable, well-earned social position. Not amongst the leafy people, but with the experiences that they oozed. There was a rule that I tried my best to adhere to; no passing would be repeated unless all previous novelties had been properly seen off–or ascribed as regretful or distrait. Today, I was heading out the front door. The backyard fashioned paths lingering amidst the overgrown hedges and burned out trees. But, I had promised my waffling morale that I needed to do a better job of being seen. I had never been married, which meant that I was morally vigilant in not having any children. I was no role model, my beliefs had been supplanted by urges from time to time. The inner slave was an exceptional litigator even though the proper jury often left him unsatisfied and feeling betrayed. The neighbors were much fewer than had been anticipated. Many homes had been shuttered. Those windows barricaded by splintered, knotted wood were sliding towards the impenitent jaws of the unkind, open market, while those residences that reflected a piercing, metallic light, urged the Yankees to return to the north to scheme. Their foreign payoffs would take place on the golf course or at a broadway play. I had crested the first speed bump and noticed the rooftop of the cabana that accompanied the community pool. From this vantage point, the amenities always looked their best. I kept that image as I lowered my head and powered on- past the flattened toads and severed curly tails, eventually, I was overwhelmed by the fumes of chemicals and the sputtering of the overworked filtration machine. Both were conceded as a joint appellation. More technical information was required for my restraint to demonstrate a proper snub. Thankfully, the outside breeze picked up and blew the humidity elsewhere. I was not sure of the exact location, there was so much new construction closing in from all directions, the air often resembled the fumblesome route that a poorly tied shoelace would be inclined to take. That was how my doubts processed the lack of a solid, visible ceiling. But in reality, my home had far too often emerged as the victor, usually by count out or submission. Now I was prepared to shake lose my anchored feet. As I continued on, I realized that my resilience did not need to be proven to exist, futility was an aggregate of being “dubiously possible”. I had family that lived just across the boundary street. There was a hot beer and a cold steak waiting. I considered looking back, yet did it really matter if the stove was still on or the door had been left unlocked? The temple-and all of its ashes and riches were fully mobile. Even if walls were implored to swaddle my brooding, my heels and the outline of my sculpted back afforded me the chance to remain forgetful and marginally ahead on bulleted points. I jiggled the deadbolt one last time and happily grabbed my suitcase. Free weights were not the problem–real discipline was being alone, grappling with an inadequate mystique. I was sure that the old limbs in the backyard could use a deserved break from my timely spasms. But would they go so far– as to applaud me for taking the middle seat?