"An interrogation should be worded with great care."

It's never nice to take stock of all that has fallen away. But it makes more room for all that remains and all that has emerged. There seems to be a cosmic balance. Something that keeps an unkind word from resounding in the absence of an extraordinarily kind one. There is harmony in the mingling. The tiny boost that makes me believe anew that I can make it to the finish line without falling down. Or barfing on myself.

I got a bunch of new sheet music this week, including the fiddle solo from The Devil Went Down to Georgia, which is surprisingly simple looking. Mostly eighth notes. I gave it a whirl tonight. But I sensed my squareness all the while. My classical stance. My orchestral attitude -- all straight and rhomboid. Once you learn a posture, it's difficult to veer from it. That's a universal truth.

All this time, I could have walked to work and never did.