I remember the way that dull ache in my lumbar region would hum, a persistent, low-frequency signal of dis-ease. It was 2017, I think, and rather than face the DIAGNOSIS, the physical therapy they’d recommend—a series of exercises I knew, from my time in the service, I’d neglect—I chose the more expensive ergonomic chair. A grand, perhaps, for a temporary somatic evasion, a very civilian solution to a problem that required DISCIPLINE. I still have the chair, of course, a testament to that particular brand of self-deception... it's almost humorous, in a bleak sort of way.