I am a wasted man, my emotion spent, sitting numb and with little life at my morning altar. I seek to revive a spark of life, a revival leading into this Sunday morning coming down. I have strong coffee, which my lover made earlier this morning before bed. I have read The Word and prayed. I opened the door and looked at the stars, knowing it was foggy and cold this morning. I am spent out. It was ugly, crippling stages of greatness bookended with bewildering ineptness. It seemed to go on forever. We got home after one. It’s tough to be a Tennessee Vol. Big Orange 23-that other team 17.
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