Some days are easy.
We slip through our tasks like a bar of soap down a slip ‘n slide slathered in coconut oil.
Other days, we slog.
The day’s dirt rises in a nipple-high sludge that crushes the ambition from our chests. Beloved beds call us home.
Those days are not for winning.
But we must keep the wheels turning so that tomorrow they may move a little more freely.
Victory those swampy days is living to fight another day.