The dilemma’s got sharp horns.   I’m desperate for a break, a week off, not to worry, not think about the toils of the immediate future.   Everyone I know is on vacation (except for my sister, back in her stalag in South Florida where the six year-olds return early).

Push a rock this big and heavy up a hill, how does one take a break, exactly?  

My resting pulse is 59, lulling me to think the bike riding is helping heart and lungs.  The blood pressure monitor lights up with the rictus, snake eyes, silent killer, smiling that deadly smile.