Self-pity is a helluva drug

I had a really difficult time with my mental health the past month.

I had spectacularly bad times with the nerves in my right foot and right cheek.

And I still have the nagging post-viral cough from that cold I had two weeks ago.

Turning 40 was the worst fucking thing. I started falling apart 10 days before it even happened.

I bottomed out emotionally and mentally about a week ago.

I can't discuss details here because it involves private communications between my spouse and I, but what I can say is this...

Not having a goal, destination, or outcome to shoot for makes me crazy. I don't necessarily need that goal, destination, or outcome to be the thing that happens, I just need a direction. I spent my life up until my 30s with no direction. I can't go back there.

That still doesn't mean that I have any real idea about what I really want to do. So for the past couple of weeks I've been reading, writing, and stitching again. I'm doing these things because I know I like them.

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Until I can get this nerve-pain thing in my left foot worked out, I'm not supposed to lift weights.

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I found this sugar-free bread that is so good I can only bring myself to put butter on it when I make toast.

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I can't say what's going on next weekend, but I hope two of my favourite people have lots of wine to drink with me.

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Happy Lord Simcoe Day, BC Day, Heritage Day, New Brunswick Day, and/or Civic Holiday, Canada!