It’s November. I’m doing what I do, writing, for the month. This is Year Twelve of writing every day. I’m also not shaving my upper lip, which I’ve done for probably about the past five or six years.
Why do I keep doing this? I don’t know. My psychologist has identified it as one of the few compulsions I have in my somewhat-unusual case of Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.
The number of things she’s been able to help me with in the almost three years I’ve been seeing her are nearly impossible to tally.
So, yes, there’s been some dissuasion towards this, but I keep doing it because, the November session, at least, sort of focuses me on the end of the year.
While I’ve gotten better, personally, many, many things have gotten a lot worse this year.
In the first entry last year, I wrote, “I’ve been trying to stay a bit optimistic about what’s going to happen, but I am worried.”
I think that was justified.
My wife and I are trying to figure out how to begin extracting ourselves from the DC swamp. I think we’ve got the start of a plan, but there’s still many lower-case Js to dot, Fs to cross.
I have about two-thirds of the month’s writing planned. Let’s go. Yes, that includes you, too, Brandon. O.o