The mind has been in turmoil. An onslaught of emotions. They don't dare leave. Stewing in discomfort, I'm drawn to the allure of physical exhaustion: The thrill of unleashing on a boxing bag, slamming a medicine ball, pulling and pushing large things. Long ago, I might have scoffed at the idea, dismissing it as a neanderthal's gimmick. I pride myself on intellect, a thoughtful poet. But only a fool ignores the cathartic release of a workout. It might take time to discover the right activity, but once found, all you need is a nudge. Sometimes the only way to heal is to hurt. So hurt a boxing bag.