I've gone thirty rounds with March; I have one more to go. One more final bell. One more chance to throw that knock-out punch.  That's the only way I'll get the decision, that check mark in the Win column.  Because otherwise, it's going to The Judges- and who the fuck knows how they'll score it.

I mean, I got my shots in.  Heavy body blows and crisp hooks that snap the head back.  Those middle rounds...I really thought I had It on the ropes.  I got to meet quite a few really great people this month, people that crossed over A-Ha-style from the ether into the physical, fantastic people that I'm...I'm really stoked to get to know. And I worked my ass off.  And I partied my ass off.  I was riding that rhythm, that cadence that lets you anticipate the next move, the road up ahead, the next dance step.  It's a heady place to be, when you can feel what's coming.

But March got its shots in too, lulling me into the Rope-a-Dope.  Sensing the contrails of burnt dopamine and serotonin pouring from me, It left a knuckle imprint on my heart. It hit me hard and dirty.  It hit me with low blows that cost It more than just a point on the score cards.  It's turned me around and into the ropes the past few days, furiously working against the ticking of the clock, wasting little time to decimate what stamina and confidence I had amassed over time.

And now, even by my own corners' estimate, It's winning. So I've got one more shot. A Last Dance. A Ninth Inning, Two-Minute Warning, Golden Goal chance at coming away beaten and victorious.  Or I end up beaten and defeated.

And how do I see it winding up?

I'm broken. I'm...I'm just really pretty much broken. I'm just trying to make it out alive, just to see the next fight. I've been beaten about the head and neck with a giant club of self doubt and I just wanna be done. I'm...yeah. Earlier this week, somebody I had just met coined the phrase Nightmares & Promises... and I don't think he had any idea how closely he had just described my March. (ed note- If I ever run for office, Nightmares & Promises is totally going to be my Platform.)

This isn't my first loss, or even my worst.  I don't have the record of a Champion or a Contender, someone looking to make a name for themselves, looking to etch their name into a book.  I'm a journeyman, a AAAA ballplayer-D League, practice squad fodder, just trying to preserve my own memory of what the Majors are all about.  I know my lot.  I'm just a stepping stone for Bigger Things, maybe a footnote, a sparring partner.

So I'll pick my carcass up off the canvas.  Because that's what I do.  That's...that's how I live.  Friday is a new month, a new fight. And a tomato can like me has to keep fighting.