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These are the times that try men's souls. I think that's the quote. I'm not sure where it's from, but it's fucking appropriate.

I tongued the control, moving down the street in a whirring rush at all of maybe four miles per hour.

These are the times: when suicide isn't an option, when anger keeps you going, when you can't sleep, when you can't laugh.

That try men's souls: testing to destruction, working to failure, trying to quit.

It's a peculiar feeling, really. Complete rotundity, unperturbed by interruption. I remember the depression setting in; the exhaustion and the hatred and the lassitude and the immobility - made more piercing, naturally. I ate small Matterhorns of food each day, trying to ingest the hatred and the anger and the regret, maybe hoping to purge it out.

I failed.

Eventually you have to stir. You have to move. You have to work; you need money, you need food, even if you're as overweight as I. I'm fortunate, I suppose; my skills aren't related to my limbs, except that I've had to learn to speak slowly for the voice systems. I can hack. I can manage. I can watch. Voyeurism de rigeur given my condition.

The doorway is ahead.

Legless and obese, I scuttle into the grey office tower, for the first time in four months since the accident, and hope that the task of adapting will supplant the bored and bitter anger.

Nodeshell Challenge issued by yerricde!
My uncle's couch filled up most of our basement. It was moldy and green; legless and obese, but we loved it. The couch was, at various times, the defensive line for the Chicago Bears- (we could dive over it) the Iron Curtain- (we could fight on either side of it) and of course, a castle to climb on top of, until a younger relative got hurt and went upstairs to seek parental supervision.

It wasn't until I was 16 and invited Stephanie Harrison over to watch scary Halloween movies that I realized it might have more personal options. The cushions had become so battle weary that anyone sitting next to me automatically sunk in my direction, which gave me a head start I would have needed hours to obtain otherwise. It also was so low to the floor that it was impossible for animals or younger sisters to hide under it, which was not true of the upstairs furniture. These advantages would come in quite useful during my formative years and I came to think of the couch as a wise relative who was looking out for my best interests, unlike my parents, who seemed intent on keeping me virginal and sweet for years. The "green monster" in the basement, I miss it still.

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