Except for passive resistance in the form of my usual torpor. Specifically, I am to report at a certain time Saturday, yet I proceed in believing (or acting along the lines of the belief) that I so not have to report until Sunday.
The span will be two weeks, during which we will have to climb a mountain on foot. I am sure I can accomplish this feat, bit I wonder about the other old ones.
I strangely have my old duffel bag and military gear from forty years ago, and I proceed finally to gather it all. A certain grizzled old vet in a uniform of uncertain vintage insists in flossing my teeth. Despite my protests he stands right up in my face and proceeds with the operation, as if I'm a toddler.
What's past is prologue, they say, about carousels.
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