Right Angles

I walked in from the dark and took position on the polished maple dresser. Beside the warm glow of the small reading lamp, a heavy leather-bound journal stood upright, offering a flawless ninety-degree vertical. Personal discipline requires daily verification before rest. I planted my boots shoulder-width apart, pressed my spine flat against the firm leather binding, and descended until my thighs locked strictly parallel to the wood. Arms crossed firmly over my chest. For sixty measured breaths, I held the isometric seat without a millimeter of drift, anchoring my form against the timber. A solid, unwavering close to the day.