A faded hope matches the mood of a dull morning commute.
Travel. Before the journey, comes the preparation. A time spent in the canyons of the mind, circling at the mercy of doubt.
The silent journey to work, a time shared with anonymous companions that I see each day I take this transit. I wonder if any of them recognise me, or even notice their fellow passengers?
Not every day goes according to the idealistic plans of the night before. Sometimes, life goes awry. Sometimes, willpower just fails.
Keeping track of the monthly targets, I find myself... meeting them.
Facing down the bad weather. Doable, but tough. Glad I'm back at the hab. But that's about all I can think.