Over the last couple weeks there has been a noticeable tenseness in my shoulders. Ben, one of my current roommates and massage therapist, made mention of it simply by looking at me from five feet away. Shoulders like stone Crazy Horse at dusk, minus the headdress. Things became a battle for sanity, like painting faces, black streaks like fire from a gun's mouth. A prairie of tufts like an old man, a gust that rushes through it, and the necessity for resolution. Vendettas and vengeance doesn't dwell but a knowing of need.
And that all leads me to now; well, earlier today; in less flowery language, in a parked car, with Jon on the phone with the namesake of whom I waited to hear from. Then came a similar movement to Jon's, from pocket to ear, and word was given. And an dissimilar movement to Jon's, a crumbling of encased rock. Ceremonious and punctilious disrobing of apprehensive baggage.
Yes, I will begin doing service at the BNC in the next two weeks and will remain there for two years.
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