I’m doing good this morning. I slept well and very little is being asked of me which means I can get a lot of small personal tasks out of the way and spend the afternoon on my larger goals. I’m feeling disciplined.

I’ve been practicing doing the “hard things” and it’s getting easier and easier. I’m getting better at focusing, writing, reading, and learning when all I want to do is nothing at all—in the mornings when I’m tired, when I’m hungry, when I wish things were different and that I was better.

As happy as I am with myself right now, my patience with other people is at an all-time low. Small talk is exhausting, irritating, wasteful. I have things to do and I resent others for diverting my attention or suggesting that there are other things I should be doing.

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The day has been downhill since the morning. I’m home now and I’m so tired. I’m so I barely feel like myself. I’m empty, on the verge of tears, maybe. An unshakeable melancholy sits in my chest though I don’t know why. But I’m home now, thank god. Things are easier here with my wife, the dog, and the cat all willing to comfort and distract me from the day I have had.

Tomorrow I’ll be halfway there, thank god.