DAILY DRIVER | 10.14.23

Hello Friend.

This week’s theme seems to be patterns. Things repeated over and over again; little details that are often easily lost in the bigger picture. 

I think a lot of the things I’m thinking about shouldn’t be big deals; like yeah–water wet, fire hot. For whatever reason, though, my brain won’t let me move on until I’ve figured them out. Like I mentioned last time, writing helps me figure things out in my head. 

This week:

  1. bifocals or reading glasses
  2. accomplishing my ass off
  3. decoding my writing style
  4. noise, crowds, & chaos
  5. a build thread update
  6. teh funnies
  7. realtalk


I’ve been nearsighted since sixth grade. I am used to wearing corrective lenses to see things far away. But now I can’t see things up close when I’m wearing my contacts. Do you know what that means? 

It means bifocals. Or contacts and readers, which feels wrong since I can see things up close just fine without contacts. But it’s not like I’m going to start popping lenses in and out all day, so readers it is, I guess. I don’t mind wearing glasses, but they’re never comfortable for long and there’s always something on the lenses. I’m also pissy because you’d think all the screen time in the last 20 years would leave me only able to see things up close. Nnnnyeaaaah!

Dr. Feinberg was right. I should send him a postcard.


Sometimes you’re working your ass off, but instead of burning out, you feel like a boss. You’re doing more than you’ve ever done before and it starts feeling more like an accomplishment than a burden. It feels like leveling up.

The other day, I realized I’m doing more than ever. I mean–accomplishing–things. I’m feeling good about it, and trying to channel that energy into a more virtuous cycle of personal improvement. Trying to use my brain’s attachment to labels for good. 

Instead of: If you’re doing This, you HAVE TO do all of That too., it’s more like: I’m actually doing This and WANT TO do That too. 

Few things fuel my fire more than accolades. 


That’s it. That’s it right there. Every word. Every sentence. Every story. It’s the same pattern.

I’ll write one sentence. The second builds on it. I hit a wall halfway into the third. I really like what I’ve got so far, but which direction am I going with this? I drop out of flow, try straightening out the Jenga tower—and that’s usually about the time the voice in my head tells me “Nobody f*cking cares, dude. Why are we wasting time on this?”

This week I noticed I do that thing I do in sentences—with the parentheses ( ‘n shit )—is also going on in my paragraphs. I had a couple days where I noticed my writing got tighter when I rearranged the sentences. This is a BFD, because this is the code or regex behind why I have always told such rambling, long-winded stories. 

It’s a lot harder to keep track of all the details in my head, where I can’t cut, copy and paste things to make sense before sharing them with others.

See #20 on this list of 22 subtle signs you might have had ADHD all along. (17 of which apply to me almost every single day for as long as I can remember.)


This week I found myself thinking about how noise gets to me. Sound is fury. But why? I guess it’s a symptom of chaos; a disregard for others.

That’s a bit of a hot take, but this week I connected the dots between my lifelong aversion to noise and crowds. At the gate before a flight. In the audience after the speaker makes a joke. Parades, sporting events, concerts. Anywhere there’s a crowd of people making noise (with little concern for anyone but themselves). It bothers me way more than it should.

I hate feeling like the only one who gives a shit about the rules. I mean, why so serious? Well, for starters, it’s hard minding your own business when you can’t trust the people around you to play fair.

Perception is reality. 


Fezzik hasn’t moved since July 31st. I’ve got to be careful. The longer a vehicle is apart, the less likely it is to go back together. The line between waiting-on-parts and scope-creep-shenanigans is getting blurry so I spent a little time the other night working out the critical path.

I took a roll of painter’s tape and a sharpie back to the tailgate, cracked another Hamm’s, and started listing everything I could think of left to do on strips of tape. Then I started rearranging things on the back window. Got the idea from my man Hazbon in the forum. If you’ve never done this, I highly recommend. Not only did this help me remember a bunch of things, three simple questions helped me find the critical path.

  1. What has to happen before I can drive the truck?
  2. What order do these things have to be done?
  3. What else should I do while I’m in there?

The leaky heater core made it easy to justify pulling the entire interior to do other things—but getting all those other things done (after replacing the core) is making it harder to get the truck back on the road. I’m preparing myself for the prospects of driving a truck with no headliner or interior trim this winter, but I’m also cautiously optimistic things will go back together much quicker than I think once the dash is back in. 

I’ll try and get the build thread updated with more details this week. 



“I don’t owe the universe anything and it doesn’t owe me anything. I’m free to exist, just be, and romanticize my live how I see it.”


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