industrial_runes
I stalled for hours, circling the “Start Streaming” button like a vulture over roadkill. Anxiety dug in, whispering every excuse. But in the end, it was a choice: click or walk away.
I clicked.
Connection issues. Drops. Nonsense. None of it mattered. Because when the dust settled, I could say it: I did it.
Now comes the cycle—two weeks on rotation, seven streams across fourteen days. Family first, always, but the forge stays lit. VODs, edits, shorts—momentum forged day by day.
The line is moving. The work has begun.
Back In Black
On August 4th, the doc gave me the green light to walk again. “Take it easy. Don’t overdo it. Wear arch supports. Keep the ankle straight.” No walking boot needed — just my steel-toed leather boots with stiff sides and a decent set of insoles. We’re kicking it old school now.
That same night, I went for a walk — twenty minutes, covered about a third of a mile. The next day, I pushed it to a full mile in just over thirty. Foot was aching after, but that’s what painkillers are for. Not bad, considering I did both of those walks in slippers.
I Should Be Dead
It was just a drive home from work—just like any other day that ends in 'y'. I was tired. Not the kind of tired that yawns and stretches. The kind that sits in your bones like concrete. Covered in filth, reeking of steam and fat and burnt motor oil, all I wanted was a shower that hit like a waterfall and a bed that felt like forgiveness.
I don’t remember much. Just the sound of the rumble strips tearing me out of whatever sleep-dead daze I’d slipped into, and the image of a cattle trailer growing far too fast in the windshield. After that, it all bleeds together—metal, motion, silence, pain. The sort of blur that rewrites your calendar and carves a new scar into the calendar of your life.