When the System Breaks You Before It Fixes You

It’s been a long eight months.

I checked my ride log today. October 27, 2025, that was the last time I got on my mountain bike.

That was the day the pain officially won.

It wasn’t just discomfort anymore. It was the kind of pain that stops your life in its tracks. The kind that takes your routine, your identity, your outlet, and shelves it.

That was also the day I started calling doctors. Go ahead, do the math.

October. November. December. January. February. March. April.

Six months. Six months of no callbacks. No treatment plans. No real answers. No help.

Just waiting… while things got worse.

Finally, near the end of February, I found a doctor willing to see me for a surgical consult. We met on March 17.

That day, I was told something I hadn’t heard in a long time:

“We can fix this.”

For the first time in months, I had hope.

The plan? A discectomy with artificial disc replacement at C5-6 and C6-7, plus a foraminotomy to relieve the nerve compression that’s been wreaking havoc on my body.

It sounded like a path back. Then came the silence again.

Days turned into weeks. My symptoms worsened. Life got smaller.

After multiple calls and messages, I finally heard back on April 3. I was told I’d be scheduled soon. “Sooner rather than later.”

No urgency. No concern. Just… words. A week and a half later, surgery was scheduled:

May 4th. “May the 4th be with you.”

Then I checked the portal. And everything changed.

The surgical notes didn’t match what I was told in person.

Not even close.

So I called… again.

That’s when I got the real plan.

No disc replacement. Now it’s a microdiscectomy with fusion.

After consulting with a neurosurgeon, they decided that due to my age and the arthritis in my spine, artificial discs weren’t an option.

Instead, they’ll fuse C5-6 and C6-7 with a metal plate.

Translation? Permanent loss of mobility in my neck.

When I pushed back, because yeah, I’m not exactly thrilled about voluntarily giving up range of motion… I got answers that didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Looking up? Limited.

Pain relief? Not guaranteed.

That shoulder pain? Might be permanent nerve damage.

The numbness in my arm and hand? It should go away… eventually.

“Should” is doing a lot of heavy lifting there. So now I’m sitting here trying to process it all.

Permanent damage… after months of being ignored.

And the question that keeps creeping in:

Who’s responsible for that? The system that didn’t call back? The doctors who didn’t prioritize it? Or is this just one of those things we’re supposed to shrug off as “life”?

And then there’s the bigger hit, the one that really sticks. What does life look like after this?

Mountain biking… maybe less, maybe never the same.

Jiu-jitsu? Done. No debate. Anything that risks pressure on my neck? Off the table.

So what exactly am I agreeing to here?

A fix? Or a compromise?

Because that’s what nobody really prepares you for.

Sometimes it’s not about getting your old life back.

Sometimes it’s about negotiating with a new one you didn’t ask for.

Surgery is set for May 4th.

I’ve got one more opinion lined up on April 27. Maybe there’s another option. Maybe there’s not. Regardless, running out of time!

But after eight months of being overlooked, delayed, and redirected, it’s hard not to wonder… Am I making the best decision?

Or just the only one left?

A Life That Looks Like Success… but Somehow Lost the Feeling of Living It

There’s a moment in life nobody warns you about.

It’s not rock bottom. It’s not chaos.

It’s the quiet after you’ve made it… and somehow feel less alive than when you were struggling.

That’s the part nobody puts on the motivational posters.

Lately, I’ve been sitting with Man’s Search for Meaning written by Viktor Frankl, and let me tell you, this book doesn’t gently suggest meaning.

It grabs you by the collar and says:
“You don’t get meaning because life is easy. You find it because life is not.”

And that hit differently. Because what happens when you did feel like you had it?

When life was messy and broken and slightly unhinged… but you were alive in it?

There was debt. Stress. Hustle. Chaos.

But also purpose. Drive. Motion. And now?

Now there’s stability. A growing business. Financial breathing room.

On paper, my life looks like “I’m winning.”

But internally? It can feel like someone turned the volume down on life.

And then life throws another curveball… like health issues pulling me off the field entirely, and suddenly even the motion I did have is gone.

No work. No grind. No building. Just stillness.

And stillness can get loud.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth Frankl doesn’t sugarcoat:

Meaning isn’t something you earn by being productive.
It’s something you choose when everything else gets stripped away.

Not convenient. Just real.

Frankl survived what most minds can’t even process, and still concluded that meaning comes from three places:

What we create
What we experience
And the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering

That last one? That’s the one that stings and heals at the same time.

Because it suggests something radical:

Even when your body says “not today,” your life is not meaningless. Even when your output stops, your existence hasn’t.

And I know what your brain is saying right now:
“But I built meaning through doing.”

Yeah. A lot of us do. Especially builders. Owners. Creators. The “I fix things, I move things, I make things happen” type.

So when that gets taken away, even temporarily, it doesn’t just feel like limitation.

It feels like identity loss.

But here’s the shift Frankl forces you into: If meaning only exists in what you do, then illness or interruption can steal your entire life.

And that’s too fragile to survive reality. So maybe the better question isn’t:

“What am I able to do right now?”

Maybe it’s: “What kind of person am I still allowed to be right now?”

Because you can still be:

the thinker
the builder
the leader
the storyteller
the one who notices life differently now

Even if the output looks different for a while.

There’s something brutally powerful about someone who refuses to let circumstance define meaning.

Not because they’re “positive.” But because they’re defiant.

Quietly stubborn in the face of life saying “pause.”

So maybe this isn’t the end of meaning. Maybe it’s a forced rewrite.

Not the chapter you planned, but the one that decides whether meaning was ever dependent on momentum… or if it was always sitting underneath it, waiting.

And if Frankl is right?

It was never the work that gave life meaning. It was you.

Even here. Even now. Even paused.

And yeah… I know that’s not the same as running a business at full tilt, building, creating, and feeling invincible.

But it might be something deeper. Something steadier. Something that doesn’t disappear when life takes the wheels for a minute.

So maybe the question today isn’t: “What did I lose?” Maybe it’s: “What is still mine… that no setback gets to take?”

And I wish I could wrap this up with some clean, inspirational shift. Some moment where everything clicks and the weight lifts and meaning walks back into the room like it never left.

But that’s not where I am right now.

Right now, it feels more like I’m sitting in the aftermath of who I used to be, trying to figure out what’s left when the thing that defined me gets stripped away.

Frankl talks about meaning in suffering, but he doesn’t pretend suffering feels good. He doesn’t dress it up. He doesn’t promise clarity on demand.

He basically says: this is where meaning is tested, not where it feels obvious.

And honestly? That’s where I am. Not “reframing it into growth.” Not “finding the lesson.”

Just… here. Still trying to make sense of it. Because when your body stops you from doing the thing that built your identity, it doesn’t feel noble at anymore. It feels unfair. Disorienting. Like you’ve been benched from your own life and nobody told you when you’re getting back in.

And maybe that’s the part people don’t say enough:

You can understand ideas like meaning… and still not feel them yet.

You can read the philosophy and still sit in the frustration of not being able to live the life you were actively building.

Both can be true at the same time. So maybe meaning right now isn’t some big revelation.

Maybe it’s just refusing to pretend this doesn’t hurt. Maybe it’s allowing the pause without calling it “a gift” or “a lesson” or anything neat like that.

Just… a pause. And if Frankl is right, meaning doesn’t require me to feel okay.

It only asks me not to completely disappear inside what’s happening.

That’s it. Not triumph. Not clarity. Just presence inside something I didn’t choose. The only certainty I’m aware of is uncertainty itself.

Getting back to my active lifestyle? Uncertain.

Being normal and pain free after surgery? Uncertain.

Having a fulfilling and prosperous life? Uncertain.

Uncertainty has to be enough… because right now, I don’t have anything else.

Why We Rage at Jeffrey Epstein But Give Michael Jackson a Standing Ovation

Everywhere you look right now, people are demanding answers about Jeffrey Epstein.

“Release the list.”

“Name the names.”

“Why hasn’t anyone else been arrested?”

There’s real anger there, and honestly? It’s justified. When something that dark brushes up against power, wealth, and influence, people want transparency. They want accountability. They want to believe the system still works. (Even if deep down, most of us suspect it doesn’t.)

But here’s the part that doesn’t sit right…

That same energy? It disappears real fast when the accused isn’t some shadowy financier, but someone we’ve already decided we love.

Like Michael Jackson.

Because while the internet is busy demanding justice for Epstein’s victims, Hollywood is gearing up to celebrate Jackson all over again. New movie. Big budget. Nostalgia tour. The whole machine spinning back up like nothing ever happened at Neverland Ranch.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trial_of_Michael_Jackson

And yeah, before anyone gets defensive, let’s be clear:

Jackson was never convicted. Despite the loads of testimony and evidence.

But let’s not pretend the allegations didn’t exist. Or that they weren’t serious. Or that they didn’t involve children.

So here’s the uncomfortable question nobody wants to touch:

Why do we demand accountability in one case… and conveniently look away in another?

The Truth We Don’t Like

Outrage isn’t always about justice. Sometimes it’s about distance.

It’s easy to be furious at Epstein. He’s already a villain. No hit songs. No childhood memories. No emotional attachment. Being angry at him costs us nothing.

But Michael Jackson? That’s different. That’s music from your childhood. That’s nostalgia. That’s identity.

Holding him accountable, even just emotionally, means we have to sit with something uncomfortable:

What if someone we loved did something terrible?

And most people would rather not go there.

The Machine Behind the Curtain

There’s also a bigger force at play… one people don’t like admitting.

Money.

Epstein? Dead. No brand to protect. No billion-dollar catalog tied to his image.

Jackson? That’s a global industry.

Studios, estates, streaming platforms, they don’t benefit from doubt. They benefit from legacy. From myth. From keeping the story polished and profitable.

And people? We go along with it. Because it’s easier.

So What Are We Actually Fighting For?

If the outrage over Jeffery Epstein is truly about justice, real justice, then it has to be consistent.

Not convenient. Not selective.

Not dependent on whether we like the person. Because if we only demand accountability when it’s easy…

Then it’s not justice. It’s performance.

The Question That Sticks

You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to pick a side. But you do have to ask yourself this:

Are we actually seeking truth… or just protecting what we don’t want to lose?

Curbside Gold Rush and the City’s Empty Threats

It’s that time of year again.

The weather warms, kids start running and playing outside and household goods start to pile up on sidewalks and curbs. Old furniture, broken appliances, half-used dreams piled neatly in front of houses across the neighborhood.

Spring cleanup. The city’s annual permission slip to purge.

People love it. It’s a chance to declutter, to breathe, to make room… for the next round of clutter.

But along with the trash piles comes something else. The scavengers.

Pickup trucks creep through neighborhoods like sharks in shallow water. Some pull trailers. Others stack their findings sky-high… dressers, couches, mattresses, lashed together with ratchet straps and just enough optimism to make it down the block.

I took a walk today with my dog and counted 18 different vehicles cruising, stopping, picking, loading. Eighteen. That’s not a coincidence, that’s a shopping spree.

Because to some, this isn’t trash. It’s inventory.

Now here’s where it gets interesting.

Every year, right alongside the spring cleanup announcement, the city rolls out the same warning:

“An Ordinance prohibiting the removal (scavenging) of garbage or any other articles placed at curbside… Individuals cited… shall be fined not less than $5.00 or more than $500.00… and for repeat offenses, may face up to 30 days imprisonment.”

Sounds serious, right? Except… where is it?

Because from what I’m seeing, there are far more trucks hauling away scrap metal than there are police pulling anyone over. No flashing lights. No citations. No enforcement.

Just a city-issued warning that seems to exist purely as background noise.

And here’s the problem with that:

A rule that isn’t enforced isn’t a rule… it’s a suggestion.

And not even a strong one.

So what’s the goal here? Is the city trying to protect liability? Control property rights? Keep things orderly? Maybe. But if no one is actually backing up the ordinance, then all it does is create the illusion of control while the curbside free-for-all rolls on.

At that point, you have to ask…

Why even include the warning?

If the city truly wants to stop scavenging, then enforce it. Send out patrols. Issue citations. Make it real.

If not?

Then maybe it’s time to drop the tough talk and just admit what everyone already knows:

Spring cleanup isn’t just about throwing things away.

It’s about someone else coming along and finding value in what you left behind.

The Boston Bruins Development Problem: Let the Kids Play

There’s something happening around the NHL right now, and if you’re paying attention, it’s hard to ignore.

Young players are stepping in and making an impact immediately. No waiting. No long apprenticeships. No “earn your turn” speeches.

Guys like Anton Frondell, Zeev Buium, Michael Misa, Ryan Leonard, Beckett Sennecke, Noah Laba, Matthew Schaefer, and Ivan Demidov are either making the jump, or being given the opportunity to prove they belong.

And then there’s Boston.

The Boston Bruins have built a reputation on “doing things the right way.” Development. Structure. Accountability. Paying your dues.

Sounds great on paper.

But in reality? It’s starting to look like a holding pattern.

Most young players are sent to Providence Bruins, where they wait. And wait. And wait some more. Then maybe they get a call-up. Then they’re sent back down. Then called up again. Then scratched. Then back to Providence.

It’s not development. It’s a revolving door.

Take Matthew Poitras. He starts with the big club, shows flashes, gets sent down, improves his game in Providence… and still finds himself stuck.

Or look at Fabian Lysell and Georgii Merkulov—two players with speed and skill, exactly what Boston desperately needs more of at the NHL level.

So what’s the plan?

Because from the outside, it doesn’t look like there is one.

If these players aren’t part of the future, then why keep them buried? Why not give them a real opportunity, or let them go somewhere that will?

And that’s where the uncomfortable question comes in:

Is the problem actually the culture?

Boston’s culture has been praised for years… and rightfully so. It built winning teams. It created accountability. It demanded professionalism.

But here’s the thing nobody wants to admit:

What worked then… might not work now.

The NHL is faster. Younger. More aggressive. Teams are trusting their prospects earlier and letting them grow at the highest level.

Meanwhile, Boston still feels like it’s waiting for permission from the past.

I’m just a fan. I don’t have inside information. I don’t have access to meetings or management decisions.

But I do have eyes.

And my opinion?

Let the kids play.

Let them fail. Let them struggle. Let them figure it out at the NHL level, because that’s where they’re expected to succeed.

Because if you don’t…

You’re not developing talent.

You’re delaying it.

And by the time you’re ready to trust them…

They might not be yours anymore.

Rocky Over Reality: Philly’s Tribute to a Movie, Not Men

You ever walk around a stadium and feel like you’re in the presence of greatness?

Outside the Crypto.com Arena, it’s not just concrete and steel, it’s legacy cast in bronze. Jerry West. Magic Johnson. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Luc Robitaille. Oscar De La Hoya. And of course, Kobe Bryant… a name that still echoes far beyond basketball.

These aren’t just athletes. These are people who bled for their craft, carried cities on their backs, and gave fans something real to believe in.

Head east to TD Garden and there’s Bobby Orr, frozen mid-flight, literally defying gravity the same way he did in history.

Swing through Pittsburgh and you’ll find Roberto Clemente standing tall on the North Shore, a man remembered just as much for his humanity as his talent.

Across the country, it’s the same story: Willie Mays, Michael Jordan, Wayne Gretzky, Cal Ripken Jr. Real people. Real moments. Real scars.

And then… Philadelphia.

Right outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art stands Rocky Balboa. A fictional character.

Let’s be clear, Sylvester Stallone created something iconic. Rocky is grit, heart, underdog spirit. He feeks real. Hell, he probably means more emotionally to some fans than actual fighters.

But here’s the punch:

Why is a symbol of boxing immortalized… instead of the men who actually lived it?

Where’s Joe Frazier, a Philadelphia warrior who went toe-to-toe with greatness and never backed down?
Where’s Bernard Hopkins, a fighter who rose from nothing to become one of the most disciplined champions the sport has ever seen?

These men didn’t have scripts. No second takes. No choreographed punches. They fought under lights where the consequences were real, pain, pride, legacy.

So Philly… what’s the message here? That legend and courage matter less than a Hollywood story? That we’ll cheer for fiction while ignoring the heroes who actually stood tall? One might even ask… Stallone, a New Yorker, not even from Philadelphia, did he ever actually run those museum steps?

It’s not just disappointing. It’s wrong.

Trad Wives, Modern Reality, and the Myth We Grew Up Believing

I recently read a blog where the author talked about wanting to be a “Trad Wife.”

https://spinningvisions.substack.com/p/i-want-to-be-a-trad-wife

For those who haven’t stumbled into that corner of the internet yet, a Trad Wife, short for traditional wife, is part of an online subculture centered around 1950s-style gender roles. Think homemaking, cooking from scratch, raising kids, and supporting a husband while embracing a curated, almost nostalgic version of domestic life.

And honestly? I love that for her.

There was a line that stuck with me while reading: “Feminism, in its purest form, is about choice.”

And that’s really what this comes down to.

Let me be clear… I stand firmly behind anyone’s right to choose their own path. If a woman wants to stay home and pour everything into being a mother and wife, then that’s her lane. She should be able to walk it proudly without criticism. On the flip side, if a woman wants to build a career, chase ambition, and carve out her own identity beyond the home, that deserves the exact same level of respect.

No side-eyes. No commentary. No judgment. Just choice.

Now me? I never really understood marriage.

If you knew me in my younger years, you probably heard me say, more than once, “I’ll never get married.” And yet… here we are.

And from where I stand now? It’s not so bad.

But it’s also not the picture we were sold growing up.

I remember neighborhoods full of families. Summers that felt like block parties. Holidays that actually meant something. Game nights, laughter, people showing up for each other. It felt like everyone was part of something bigger.

The truth?

That version of life feels like it’s gone.

Today, you’re lucky if you know your neighbor’s name, let alone share a meal with them. Family dinners are replaced by schedules. Conversations are replaced by screens. Life didn’t just get busy, it got disconnected.

So when I hear about the Trad Wife lifestyle, I get the appeal. It’s not just about roles… it’s about reclaiming a feeling. Stability. Simplicity. Purpose inside the home.

But here’s the reality check.

My wife could never be that.

Not because she wouldn’t be amazing at it, but because life doesn’t allow it. She works too hard. Too much. And if I’m being honest, I don’t have the education, the skillset, or the connections to carry the full weight of a single-income household.

That’s not failure, that’s reality.

So whether it’s a Trad Wife or a career-driven woman, the answer isn’t to debate which one is “right.” The answer is to support the choice behind it.

Because the bigger mistake?

Is believing that life today is still built like it was in the 50s, 60s, or even the 70s.

It’s not.

And maybe that’s where our generation got caught.

They say Gen X is one of the best generations to be part of, and maybe that’s true. But we’re also the generation that grew up watching a version of life that doesn’t really exist anymore.

We saw it through childhood eyes… simplified, warm, and whole.

And somewhere along the way, we assumed that’s what we were walking into.

It wasn’t.

So now we adapt. We adjust expectations. We redefine what family, marriage, and success actually look like.

Not based on nostalgia…

…but based on reality.

Ignored, Delayed, Dismissed: A Patient’s Reality to Medical Neglect

My Letter to the Editor

To the Editor,

There is a growing crisis in modern healthcare that no one seems willing to address openly—the slow, systemic breakdown of patient care.

We are constantly told that early intervention, specialist care, and patient advocacy are critical to outcomes. But what happens when the system itself becomes the barrier?

Over the past several months, I have experienced firsthand what can only be described as medical neglect through inaction. I was referred to multiple hospitals and specialists for evaluation and treatment of serious health concerns. Several of these institutions never called to schedule appointments—despite referrals being sent. No follow-ups. No communication. Just silence.

One example stands out. I contacted the Cleveland Clinic after a referral and was told that scheduling would reach out within a few days. When no one called, I followed up, only to be met with confusion as to why I had not been contacted. I was assured the issue would be forwarded to the doctor’s team. That was three weeks ago. I have yet to receive a call.

When I was finally able to be seen elsewhere, the experience was no less concerning. At the WVU Rockefeller Neuroscience Center, I was told that my MRI “wasn’t that bad,” advised to maintain a good diet, and directed toward pain management. For a condition that significantly impacts my ability to function in daily life, this response felt dismissive and insufficient—offering little in the way of answers, solutions, or a meaningful path forward.

This is not just about one patient’s frustration. This is about a system where breakdowns in communication, overwhelmed staff, and bureaucratic inefficiencies are directly affecting patient outcomes—and where, even when care is accessed, patients may leave feeling unheard.

How many others are falling through the cracks?

How many people are waiting for calls that never come?

How many are being dismissed when they should be heard?

Healthcare should not require patients to fight this hard just to be seen, scheduled, or taken seriously.

We need accountability. We need transparency. And most importantly, we need a system that remembers the human being behind the chart.

Because right now, too many of us feel like we’ve been left behind.

Sincerely,
Pete Basil III

Life Moving on Without Me

Another restless, sleepless night… and I don’t even know what else to write about anymore.

It’s the same story, just a different hour on the clock. Miserable pain. No relief. And right now, it feels like there’s no light at the end of this tunnel, only the slow realization that I’m not getting better… I’m getting worse.

Getting worse is terrifying on its own. But you know what’s worse than that? Watching the rest of the world move on like everything is perfectly fine.

It’s not fucking peachy. I’m stuck here, unable to leave my house, sit up comfortably, drive, or do much of anything that used to make life feel like life. Meanwhile, everyone else is out there living, laughing, posting, moving forward… and mine just stops.

That’s the part that messes with your head the most. I spend my days… well, more accurately, I lay my days away, rotating through positions, trying to find just one where my arm doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode. Seconds, minutes… that’s all the relief I get before the pain shifts again. While I’m doing that, I just stare. Thinking. Watching time pass like I’m not even part of it anymore.

And in moments like this, you learn something real quick: Crisis mode shows you exactly who’s there… and who isn’t. For anyone wondering, the answer is nobody.

I’m not asking anyone to fix me. No one can magically take this pain away or shut off the constant electric shock running through my shoulder and arm. I get that. But people can do something.

They can be there. And that’s the part that’s missing.

I’ve always been the one who showed up. The one who listened, helped, stayed, gave a damn. That was who I was. And now?

Now I feel like I’m just… fading. Like I’m sinking deeper into my couch, disappearing little by little, like I was never really here to begin with.

That realization hits hard. Depression and sadness were never words I thought would describe me. But here I am, stuck on repeat, like a broken record that can’t find a new track. Same thoughts. Same pain. Same silence.

Maybe I’ll get back to writing about bigger things. More meaningful things. I don’t know.

But right now? This is where my mind lives.

And right now, all I’ve got is this… unhappiness, exhaustion, and the overwhelming fear that this life of constant discomfort might not be temporary… it might be forever.

Waiting in Queue of Life

You ever sit on hold during a phone call or stuck in a drive-thru line and start thinking, this is taking way longer than it should?

You check the clock. You shift in your seat. You start debating… Do I hang up? Do I pull away? Or do I just keep waiting?

Lately, that’s exactly what my life feels like.

Like I’m in a queue. Waiting.

Waiting on answers about my health. Waiting on doctors to decide what comes next. Waiting on someone else to come up with a plan for my life.

I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do… and I’m still here.bStill waiting.

And then there’s the bigger question that creeps in when things get quiet…

Where am I actually going? How long is it going to take to get there?

And the one that hits the hardest… Do I ever get there at all?

Because I don’t mind working. I never have. I love cooking. I love creating. I love giving people something they enjoy.

But right now? I don’t get to do that.

And maybe one day I will again. Maybe I’ll get back to doing what I’m good at, what I love.

But until then… I’m stuck in the queue.

And the longer I stand here, the more I start thinking about everything I’m missing.

Not just retirement, that fantasy we all chase like it’s guaranteed, but the simple things: Travel. Time with people who matter. Sitting in a chair with a book and no interruptions.

I see people my age doing those things… and yeah, there’s a little jealousy there. I won’t pretend there isn’t.

Because while they’re moving forward… I’m still waiting for my number to be called.

They say timing is everything. That everyone’s opportunity comes at a different moments.

Maybe that’s true. But waiting has a way of messing with your head.

It makes you compare timelines. It makes you question your path.

And if you sit there long enough… it starts to break your faith in the whole process.

People love to say, “Be patient. Trust the process.” But what if the process never calls your name?

So then you start asking different questions…

Is this time supposed to be preparation? Am I building something while I’m stuck here?

Because if I’m being honest… I don’t feel prepared for some peaceful, easy life down the road.

And that’s when the hardest truth shows up. We love to blame external factors, bad timing, bad luck, things outside our control.

And sure, some of that is real. But not all of it. Some of the reasons I’m still in this line?

They’re mine. Bad decisions. Wasted money. Choices that felt small at the time but stacked up over years.

Nothing intentional. But real, nonetheless. And those things? They don’t just disappear.

They stand right in front of you… holding your place in line.

So for now… I stay on hold. In the queue.

Not because I love it. Not because I believe in it.

But because I don’t know what happens if I step out of it. And maybe that’s the real question… How long do you stay in line before you finally decide… to hang up?