It's a good life if you don't weaken.

Really. Scrape yourself together in the wee hours of the morning, take a deep breath, haul yourself along the highway, and make your way into the hole. Sell your soul, offer yourself to the meat-grinder. Drag yourself slowly away and retreat for the night. Repeat.

Don't weaken.

Sacrifice. Work hard and always without cease. Collect your money at the end of the week and deny yourself the things that you thought about during the week in order to sustain yourself in the darkest moments that tried your resolve. Deny. Hand over large portions of that money to support people who will slowly suck the life from your bones. Support people who cannot support themselves, who were left to your watch by a man who weakened.

Again, don't weaken.

Don't flinch.

Don't think about alternatives. Don't. Just don't.

Get used to this grind. Get used to never resting long enough to fully recuperate. Your shoulders will ache. Then your feet, your knees, your back, and finally your heart. Your mind will forever be in pain. Thought will be laborious.

It is a good life, I suppose.

You could be in the Sudan. Or The Congo. Or Afghanistan.

It's a good life, if you don't weaken.