Oct 7/26 I wear an Oura Ring on my right hand, and most mornings I don't think about it much — I roll over, tap my phone, and see whatever score it's decided to hand me overnight. Usually I already know, roughly, what it's
Oct 6/26 Some mornings I know the number before I look. Roll over, tap the phone, and there it is, confirming what I already felt — slept fine, low resting heart rate, nothing to report. Other mornings the number disagrees with me flat out, and my first instinct isn'
Oct. 5/26 During harvest, the day started before the sun did, and breakfast wasn't a suggestion — it was fuel you loaded before a shift that might not let up until dark. Eggs, usually two or three. Bacon or ham off whoever raised it. Toast enough to mop
Oct. 2/26 I've been writing in iA Writer this week, which for me counts as a small rebellion. Ulysses is home — sync across the Mac Studio, the MacBook Pro, the iPad, all of it stitched together with Universal Control so I can start a sentence on one
Sept. 30/26 This week the assignment was just to notice — not fix anything, not journal a treatise, just pay attention to how alcohol sounded when it came up. Was it a craving, some old rope pulling tight, or was it more like being asked if I wanted more coffee
You don't trust a season, you trust a run of them. That's not something a study taught me — it's just how farming teaches you to read anything, because a single season lies about as often as it tells the truth. A wet year looks
Sept. 28/26 We didn't call it the Mediterranean diet growing up. We called it dinner. Apricots off the trees in season, tomatoes warm from the row crop, whatever vegetable was ready that week, olive oil if we had it, butter if we didn't. Nobody was
Sept. 25/26 The Stream Deck sits at the top of my desk, a little slab of backlit buttons no bigger than a paperback, and most days I forget it's even there until I need it. That's probably the tell. The tools that earn a permanent
Sept. 23/26 I've been wearing a continuous glucose monitor for a while now — a Libre 3 stuck to the back of my arm, quietly logging what my blood sugar does every few minutes, day and night. I got it mostly out of curiosity, the same instinct that
I spent a lot of summers learning that the feeling telling you something's wrong is usually the last one to show up, not the first. By the time you notice, whatever's actually happening has been happening for a while. This week's reading kept handing
Sept. 21/26 For a good while, it was just me — my own kitchen, my own meals, nobody to answer to but myself. I live differently now. These days I'm at Sagewood, and the dining room does the cooking. I don't stand at a stove anymore.
Sept. 18/26 For years I had a folder called Downloads that behaved the way you'd expect. Invoices, screenshots, PDFs from three different banks, receipts I meant to file and never did. Once a month or so I'd sit down and drag things into place by