Dear Diary: October 15, 2025

Trading full sentences for phrased visuals: why I'm the richest person in the world, and the honor of shared trust.

Oct 15, 2025

I used to think in full sentences, now they come at me like phrased visuals.

Kept the hair I cut off in a plastic bag, under the kitchen counter somewhere.

Tiny grey hairs popping out here and there.

I thought I’d mind it more, their disappearance (not the hairs). But enforcing boundaries only freed me of unwanted occupations. Uncluttered the mind.

Wash the dishes, wipe down the counter. There’s something so relaxing in it all. No grown children around to mess it all.

Dear anonymous subscribers, I see you too.

The first time I got my own bedroom as a kid, it became a landmine. A narrow footpath from the door to the bed. The rest, unkempt. Except, it wasn’t my mess to make, it showed up and I had to dwell in it.

Close the work laptop, open the personal one. Type a few keystrokes. Move on.

Get ready for the gym, the numbness growing in my left glute tells me my inconsistency in weight training has gone on too long. Time to shift gears, time to lock back on.

I watched a video last night, me at the gym 4 years ago. Doing weighted pull-ups, ten in a row. Incredible! Made them look easy. I want to ask Shanna if they have a belted squat machine today.

I’m so small now I had to order a custom belt, I haven’t broken it in yet. Time to get some.

This week is my neighbor’s back surgery. He’ll be recovering in his van, but at least he has a safe place to park it. He trusts me enough to tell me where he’s staying, what an honor and a blessing. Trust isn’t faked in these types of relationships.

“Why would you give money to the homeless?!” I can’t get it out of my ears, hearing. I have so many friends I love dearly, who are homeless. It hurts a part of my heart to see people judge them so immediately.

But I also saw in men’s faces, their excitement at learning I was homeless when I was. A delight, believing I’d be easier to use and discard than the rest.

Society’s shapes are uneasy.

Drive-In Movie is staring at me from the bathhouse, I’m typing. He seems to always have something to say. My friend Luis, the Cuban, thinks he looks like a she, and I adore that I could never see it from his perspective.

Drive-In Movie, acrylic on wood. See more art here.

Trick of the eye, that’s living.

I have pumpkin crumble muffins in the fridge, uneaten.

I’ve never enjoyed a level of internal peace that allowed me to coexist with foods like this, until now. It only took me 41 years, and I have a whole lot of peaceful life left to lead.

I have lotto tickets, unchecked. Unscratched.

And a winner I haven’t turned in yet.

I’m the richest person in the world. The world just doesn’t know it yet.

I started wearing the world on my wrist last week.

I’ve become obsessed with André 3000’s “Listening To The Sun” album film, and Bonobo’s Outlier, to boot.

Fell asleep with a smile, looking at photos of Dora and snuggling a hot water bottle.