I spent so long trying to think of interesting things to write every day that I sit here now, at the end of a normal day, and wonder if I have anything at all to write about. It almost pains me a bit to write about a the most normal of days, so why don’t I lean into that and see how it actually feels.
Got up early for all hands at the day job. I actually sort of love them, unironically. We had one just before the holidays that made me feel so much pride and joy. So much that I ran into the living room after to tell my wife about it. That’s weird, right? But also true, and also great.
Took a (very) early lunch break to walk the dog with a friend (Jordan) and their dog (Murray). I love seeing how happy they are to see each other—Cacio in play pose, Murray running towards her with a big smile. We’re so lucky to have dogs in our lives. Cacio’s sleeping next to me right now.
A few hours of work, and then the pharmacy to pick up a prescription and some pain relief gel. Some lingering pain from crap running form a couple days back. After that, picked up an insanely large pizza, wolfed it down, pulled a blanket over me, and… well… started writing this.
Some days—weeks, longer—just disappear in a flash. That was today; this week. I don’t know where the hours went, but they went somewhere, and didn’t leave much room for creative projects. Shooting for a more balanced week next week, with a little head start over the weekend.
It’s funny, reading Brian Eno’s occasionally-very-mundane journal entries felt endearing and interesting, and reading my own feels… not like that. I didn’t even know very much about Brian Eno before reading his journal, so I’m not even sure that it’s because he’s Brian Eno.
Anyway, writing this journal is doing something to me that doesn’t feel good right now, but that I believe—really, I do—will feel good in the future. I think it will change me in some way, and I suspect for the better. A weird experiment to run in public. More weird than I’d anticipated.