endings are hard

the ugly truth of a creative's bargain

Last I wrote, I was on mile eighteen of a metaphorical drafting marathon. I sailed on peak Vo2 max, the wind at my back, the sunshine tickling my nose—I had the self-satisfied presumption of strength one gets while running at an imperceptible downhill. But last week, I hit an incline… and it’s big. Now, at mile twenty-four, I can’t feel my feet and my f…