No matter what’s happening don’t let anything mess with the tip of what makes everything possible: work. The 25 years, good job. Be more focused. Do what ever it takes to hold it together. Save stuck for off hours and snack time. Money is apartment. Escape. The co-pay to see Cynthia and Tim. The someday dog.
Be stuck. Just don’t feel the “don’t feel”
It’s not enough time.
Getting cold, wool blanket is upstairs
Stuck, sitting
Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Crying could be elegant, if without stuffy nose
In Escape but no escape
Garage, stuck, sitting
Drive home
Sunset, rear view mirror
New, on sale, $14.77. Black leather band. Here, on a rack, watch face is shade of purple that matches my hair and bezel nearly matches my carabiners. I need to pick one and fix it, or just buy a new one. Dead collection of adulthood. Every wristwatch in the jewelry box needs a battery and a new leather band. I want a watch.
Distraction. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Physical pain is the near perfect substitute for the “being stuck” kind of pain
Travel the long way, like maze
Shopping, will push through the pain
Escape=ability to go-stop anywhere
I’ve stayed too long
Tim walking away
Being stuck, as a feeling; it’s not a place
35 minutes. Don’t feel. Don’t feel.
Crash. Don’t feel. Don’t feel
Sitting, waiting; stuck in park; no start
“The way out is the way in,” Motley is right
Desperately needed reinforcement of the familiar, valediction
Asking makes a hand offered; soothes the guilt
Transgression
Wanting Levi to rescue me, but trying to be small
Quiet fear
Avoid really looking at Tim
Awkward thoughts
Office Tim is not video Tim
I’m too much. Say too much
Did I do it right; do what I wanted to do?
Slide through merely pieces
I want Tim to know who I am
Space, smaller than the camera
Wi-Fi anxiousness solved
Twisty-turny maże
It’s not enough time.
1996, switch to new health care provider: PDoc change. At Research Drive, waiting way past time. Grumpy, obnoxious, agitated—not mildly. I sniped at the desk, “…why is this taking so long?” “We have no record of you.” Oops. Reschedule. I trudged away and maybe a week later came back. I was then set up to meet a different guy. Feeling hopeless and unenthused.
An older gentleman: wise, caring, compassionate, dry humor. Just sitting in his office felt healing. He always took time to shake my hand. Strong, firm. He insisted that “fine” was not an allowed greeting. To write prescriptions, I’d leave his mini sitting area and take the chair across from him at his desk, and we’d schedule next appointments. At time up, I didn’t want to leave the huge collection of books, the artwork, and his big desk… and well, him. I had access to his direct email. The medication cocktail changed numerous times. A short description doesn’t really capture how awesome it was. The scheduling mixed up, being assigned to Dr. Stephan Weiler was lifesaving. I could put a hundred carabiners in the gratitude jar.
After 13 years, when Weiler retired, he explained that he was turning me over to one of his grad students, who was competent, capable, and—he said—a good fit. Weiler was correct. I was able to work well with Alexander Fritz from 2009-2017. Then Fritz left. Followed many years of unfortunate PDoc choices. Now, Alicia Ellison is second best favorite.
I wonder if Tim has a great handshake. I want to find out.
Two part weekend: project (fun. exciting) and trauma book report (stalled, full of trepidation).
The Body Keeps the Score and What Happened to You? I had two Audible credits. Listening to the first, I realized it sounded very familiar. Discovery: I already had this book in my library; downloading a duplicate was missed because there was a book cover difference. I got my credit back.
So, two trauma books. The first explains how trauma literally reshapes body and brain. Between them, the word that keeps surfacing is recalibrate. Not fix. Not cure. Recalibrate. The second book asks us to understand our pasts in order to clear a path forward.
Admittedly, I had the speed cranked up to the max. I hope I didn’t miss the message Tim most wanted me to receive. I’m starting to wonder if developing liberating beliefs and processing trauma are just different names for the same repair work.
Not exactly related to trauma, but lately I’ve been thinking about Stumbling on Happiness, by Daniel Gilbert, which is a book I’ve listened to more than twice. I believe it, but knowing a thing and doing a thing are different—to make your best guess what future-you wants, implement, and be ready to chill if future-you ends up wanting something different. I believe Gilbert calls it correcting affective forecasting.
Nir wants us to take bucket list items and attach a WISE goal to some/all of them.
I know you are not supposed to believe everything you read on the internet… but I really hope this is true: New Almond Joy Ice Cream Bars Now in Stores.
Weekend best: zoo volunteer potluck. Met people who will be in the goat yard. I saw a Princeton Club swipe card. We talked about exercise and pets. I have her phone number and she followed me on Facebook. I have some great photos of them.
Listening to a reel from Mark Manson. He says that Epicurus argues that happiness is not gaining or acquiring anything. Instead, just remove the things that make you feel bad. What if those bad things are within yourself? Unhealed trauma, tendency towards laziness (or simply just don’t want to start if it can’t be perfect), habit to over-explain and over-apologize for things that don’t require either, avoiding confrontation, resist taking in positive information, catastrophize quickly and dramatically.
Perhaps the highest flaw is inability to become my own best friend. If improving happiness is about removing the bad, then the one thing that would make the greatest difference is to cure the unending loneliness through acquiring quiet lasting contentment.
Why, when I call for scheduling appointments with Tim, even nine weeks away, are the only openings typically on Fridays? It’s on my bucket list to meet Tim and there never seems to be an in-person appointment available.
But! Yeah! I will be crossing off an item from my bucket list in a few short days. However, recently after creating my list I have learned there is a big difference between the types of want lists. List taxonomy—the complete picture via Claude:
Bucket list—big life experiences, often once-in-a-lifetime, tied to identity, meaning. Finland. Kayaking.
Goals—outcomes with steps and timelines. Body rebuild. Custom earrings. Princeton Club routine.
Wish list—things you want but have no clear path yet. A relationship. A dog someday.
ToDo list—tasks with clear actions. Watch batteries. Sharpie from the art chest. Reply to Tracy about the fish cat toy.
Projects—multi-step endeavors without a deadline. The journal app. The cast of characters meadow image.
Someday/maybe list—term from Getting Things Done — things you’re not ready to commit to but don’t want to forget. Learning Finnish. The tattoo design.
Meeting Tim in person is a wish list item. Wanted, meaningful, dependent on circumstances outside your control, but not so distant it belongs on a bucket list.
Claude writes, “The jealousy of Tim’s other clients is very real and very funny. Somewhere out there are people taking all the Tuesday through Thursday slots and they have no idea what they’re doing to you.”
Because Tim is pressing me, for months, to take “credit,” I am begrudgingly offering Tim the list of things which may be considered amazing growth since Philip moved out:
…what is missing? Was there more? The list is getting longer simply because I like making lists and analyzing data. And of course, I reserve the right to disbelieve this entire admission on bad days. Perhaps I can sit and just quietly pretend to believe. I can’t think of one thing to add to the list prior to PWS move. Ah, Tomato Plant Conversation!
Hoping list will make Tim happy [no, instead Tim will squirm or groan]. Need genuine embracing of giving/taking self credit. Too much my life has instead been emotionless acknowledgement of completion; a ghost like, poor cousin of credit. Taking credit and recognizing success is entangled in the senses of sight and touch. If you can’t see it, can’t feel it, one’s character has a gap.
Bedford Crossing parking permit hand tag and garage door opener. How long have I had the Escape? I haven’t picked up my stuff. I drove to my physical therapy appointment in the blizzard but I couldn’t go get the stuff for the new vehicle.
I thought I knew the location of the property office. I had been dreading the errand because there’s lousy parking by that building. But it turns out when I compared the address in my text message to the place I showed up at, the property management office isn’t there anymore. I needed to take a look at the map.
Traveling on University Avenue in mid-morning. There are a lot of people crossing the streets.
Reading the street numbers and driving is more than a little frustrating. Once I identified the building I needed to go to, due to the median, I had to go down to the next street light and turn around. My turnaround on a tiny off street was definitely not elegant. And then once I got to the building, I had a little bit of a “no you go, no you go, no — go on — get out of the fucking way” pedestrian who wouldn’t keep going along the sidewalk so I could pull into this weird tunnel to get to the parking area.
Inside, no one at the reception desk. Luckily someone called out asking if they could help me. I explained what I needed. He looked a little confused at first. Then he looked for something and he found it. There was actually a blue Post-it note with my name, hang tag and opener. I could drive home and start my work day.
Escaped through the drifts to see Cynthia Monday morning. Considered the snowy trek a more thorough test drive. Not letting this winter day be an excuse to derail operation Body Health/Rebuild Muscle. Ribs are near healed. I was coached through my full weight training routine. Actually I received extra attention/time due to being one of the few who showed up.
Tim directed me to ask AI for the Four Steps to Building a Routine. I did. Turns out Claude says I’m already doing better than I thought—many of the steps are already in motion. One missing piece: a wall calendar for tracking. Rather than X’s, I’ll use short codes to log what activity, when, and where. I’ll need to track down an appropriate Sharpie out of the art chest. Over the weekend I stopped at Half Price Books and found a 2026 calendar for $1.06. I chose penguins. Exactly appropriate for a blizzard Monday. Showing Cynthia the calendar was worth every cautious, snow-covered mile.
The November drive north in a rental Escape offered some winter driving experience — but different vehicles, different snow, fresh nerves all the same.
Jon, the Ford salesman, sent me a post sale inquiry. The email was still inbox, unanswered. Finally, the weather offered the perfect prompt for a one line reply to him about my snowy test drive. My positive report won me a cheer.
A calendar check off activity the penguins will witness is a complementary Princeton Club personal trainer session. I will investigate InBody assessment.
I went to two different concerts.
Back To The Future – The Musical on March 12, 2026 – Overture Hall at Overture Center for the Arts. JC and I had seats in row G at the very top. The climb up and then down the stairs was a workout. Sore knees. Doug played guitar; he had been practicing for months. The part I most looked forward to was Marty (Doug) playing Johnny B. Goode.
Candlelight: Coldplay & Imagine Dragons performed by string quartet on March 14, 2026 – Monona Terrace – Lecture Hall; I went alone. Unexpected I saw Brady (TaskRabbit) with his wife. He was so happy to see me, gave me a hug. At first I didn’t know him, dressed in a wool gentleman’s coat, and not work clothes. At the end, I was surprised to learn the candles weren’t fire.
Tickets were purchased way before impulse “entertainment” of looking at cars. Of course I’m worried the reader is going to criticize my spending habits when I have a new car to pay for. I want to justify the tickets by saying that I’m doing things. I’m not just sitting at home.
Things I feel like I should report back to TK about. TK’s my person. I don’t really have anybody else to tell. I tell Cynthia stuff but immediately I feel sad because it’s another person that I pay to listen to me.
Probably Liz is telling me not to bother. But I don’t listen. Yet, why am I telling TK?
Something about it feels good, feels necessary.