The Windmill At Which I've Lowered My Lance

I'm finally to a dedicated point. A plateau where I feel comfortable buying what you're selling. I don't feel like I'm sliding down the shiny edge of a thin razor, nervously looking over each side hoping not to fall, but longing to get off all the while. I am finally beginning to come to understand what I already know. The horses are comfortable in the stables and the need for furious running is only shown in flashes of white-knuckle focus now. Rested and weary, I can reload with efficiency now. You can't stop progress, and you can't deny preparation. I've rattled off long enough, headstrong throughout a vacant southern land, looking for my place at the table. Suddenly, a chair seems pulled out for me and a plate has been set. I am terribly focused right now.