In and out, I pivot on the cusp. Spending a lot of time thinking at the moment. Is this the line? Is my decision inevitable?
Talking to Matt today:
"It's a bit like soloing the crux of die by the sword, followed by fly agaric, followed by infinity in a grain of sand, followed by the landslip arête, followed by a harder version of sky burial, followed by a harder version of tormented sole."
The sweet taste of liquorice takes a while to hit after the hot tea. "So sweet it tastes like 3 sugars". I can smell the peppermint, but I can't taste it. Or maybe that is the taste?
That list of cruxes should scare me. If I had imagined this as those routes were still projects, it would have seemed the most insane conception. The routes individually, as projects, seemed insane. But now, after climbing them, it seems less so. So by doing the mad, the really mad becomes less mad.
When to cut your losses; count your winnings and leave. "You're only safe till your 25th birthday". Moors H9 exists. Moors H10 probably does too. That's enough isn't it? Maybe when you're honest, this stops being about the Moors. It's now about me. It's about doing something truly new. Something so outrageous it could only ever be repeated by somebody just like you - an impression left by your being.
Rock is no longer a static unresponsive mass. It becomes a climb that is as much an impression of you as when you stick your head in a vat of jelly. The perfect project, which this is becoming, mirrors the limits of your finger strength; the extremes of your flexibilities; and the borderline of your madness. Even if you fall off, the act of realistic departure signifies a masterpiece of self-portrait.