24/05/2026
This Weeks Conversation with Our Older Self is ready for you....
The village clock tower struck half past five with a stubborn, iron echo that vibrated through the timber bench and straight into Tomās coccyx. Hardly noticing the chill, he sat with his backpack anchoring him to the cold stone, palms clamped around a flask like it was a holy relic, letting the steam damp his chin.
He didnāt look at the waking square. Instead, his sleeve pulled back, drawn by a habit that felt less like curiosity and more like obedience to a tiny silicon dictator.
The face of his smartwatch glowed against the dawn.
Sleep score: 73.
Recovery: fair.
Tom let his arm drop and rolled his eyes to the heavens. Truly the most passive-aggressive feedback a piece of metal could deliver after heād spent the last six months living like a monk.
Heād followed every rule. Measured food to the exact gram. Swallowed magnesium capsules the size of masonry bricks. Worn blue-light blockers that made him look like Temu Keanu Reeves from The Matrix. Heād exchanged proper coffee for warm mushroom dirt and subjected himself to cold showers that certain parts of him retreat for safety.
And for what? Fair. "For f**kās sake," Tom muttered, side-eyeing the baguettes in the bakery window.....
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Lynz x
