The W.S.C.

So, here I lie in the waning hours of the day, feeling like nothing short of a rock concert ran me right over. This may have been the longest day of my life.

Are you familiar with the recent revival of King Kong? There's a scene where the fearless seafarers come under the assault of hordes of elephantitis-stricken bugs, wherein one sad sack becomes the dinner of several creatures looking like prepubescent aliens from the hit movie, Aliens. Each appendage gripped in a toothy beartrap, he eventually disappears.

That's what today felt like. We had, by far, our most difficult load in of the show, one I hope not to repeat. The performance, though credited as a good one, took place in pure hot. Finally, the strike, though quick, required the exact opposite traffic pattern as the load in. However, as we have faced what one could consider our greatest challenge, it feels good. We've survived the toothy beartraps, and we are stronger for it. My body writhes in soreness, and I'm sure I won't maintain my bipedal status in the morning, but I will attend Good Shepherd for church, and I will be glad I did.

I'm going to bed. This is just ridiculous.
"Dan, if you're so sore and tired, why don't you just go to bed?"
That's an excellent question, but I'm still hurt by your tone. I sleep now.