In the jungle

Law, elements, and exceptions rise up around me like thick trees, the densely populated, vast expanse of a jungle. I hack through hearsay. I uproot Criminal Procedure. I trip on the ancient low-hanging vines of Property.

I hike, I wander, I wonder, I trek through the depths, through the brush and swamps. The sky eludes me, blacked out by the overhanging limbs, concealed by foliage. No wind, no rain, only a sweaty heat causing my clothes to cling tightly to my skin. I wipe off my brow only to have the droplets replaced within seconds.

I'm surrounded by law, engulfed by its elements, entrenched by exceptions. I force my feet forward. Although I see no light, the only way out is to keep moving. No time to stop. No time to drink. No time to eat. Just keep moving. Just keep moving forward until a sliver of light appears among the foggy shade.

In reality I have barely exercised in days. I'm living off the fried food I pillage from 39th street. My main fuel is caffeine. I have set up camps at a series of coffee houses and restaurants. I can feel my stomach expanding, my face bloating, my cholesterol rising, my physical endurance waning as my mental stamina cultivates.

I don't mean this to sound like Chris Taylor writing home to his grandma in Platoon, but I guess it turned out that way. Okay, maybe I did a little bit, but I feel better now. Thanks.

I'll try to get back to some kind of consistency on here for the next two weeks. Two weeks until the rest of my life.