Some days are tougher than others – whether it’s the monkey on my back, or the alien on my face, some days it’s just tougher to see my way clear. There may be two roads. There are likely many more. But today, I see no roads. I only see ruts. The same mistakes. The same track grinding away under the same worn out, broken-down tires. The same slipping traction, sliding backwards, hoping against hope for some bump that gets things moving in the right direction again. And hoping like hell that that direction includes the fog lifting, the view clearing, and two roads. Or more. Or even just one.