It’s My Life

Tag: about_me

  • Getting the house painted

    Exterior painting is one of those adult responsibilities that somehow costs a pile of money, disrupts your week, creates stress, and still leaves you standing there afterward going:

    “Cool… it’s still a house.” 😆

    You don’t really enjoy the process. You survive it. Then one day months later you pull into the driveway and subconsciously think, “Alright… looks pretty sharp,” while hauling groceries.

    The real experience is:

    • scheduling chaos
    • HOA paperwork theater
    • weather roulette
    • strangers orbiting your house with ladders
    • wondering why paint names sound like craft beer flavors

    “Mountain Sage Drift”
    “Weathered Canyon”
    “Smoked Juniper Fog”

    Sir, it is green-gray.

    But getting it done does buy you peace for years. No staring at fading trim thinking “I should deal with that.” No HOA letters materializing like enchanted scrolls in a fantasy RPG.

    This is basically homeowner dentistry:
    nobody wakes up excited for it, but future-you appreciates not having structural cavities.

    And looking at the forecast, my instinct may actually be dead-on. Monday starts getting colder and wetter, then the week slides into classic Front Range chaos mode with rain and thunderstorms floating around.  

    That explains why the painters bumped the schedule instead of charging ahead on Friday. Exterior painting crews around Castle Rock basically operate inside a weather pinball machine:

    • sunny
    • hail
    • wind
    • random moisture
    • existential cloud formation over Palmer Divide

    Colorado weather has the emotional stability of a Labrador chasing a tennis ball.

    Still, if they can get the prep and body coats done Monday before the wetter stretch settles in, you may end up threading the needle just fine. And if it rains? Then at least you’ll know the universe remains committed to continuity.

  • Wake & Bake vs. Getting It Right

    In Colorado, morning cannabis use isn’t one-size-fits-all anymore. What used to be lumped into a single stereotype—wake and bake—has quietly evolved into something more nuanced.

    Let’s break it down.

    ☀️ Wake & Bake (The Classic)

    This is the version everyone recognizes.

    Roll out of bed. Light up. Start the day elevated.

    It’s ritual. It’s habit. Sometimes it’s just how the day begins without much thought beyond “let’s go.”

    The vibe here leans recreational:

    • Immediate lift
    • Loose structure
    • See-where-the-day-goes energy

    There’s nothing mysterious about it—it’s been around forever, and it still has its place.

    ☕ Functional Morning Use (The Colorado Shift)

    Now here’s where things get interesting.

    A lot of seasoned users aren’t diving straight into the deep end anymore. Instead, it looks more like:

    • Coffee first
    • A couple controlled hits
    • Then ease into the day

    This isn’t about getting blasted. It’s about dialing things in.

    The goal:

    • Smooth out the edges
    • Lift mood
    • Manage pain
    • Stay clear enough to actually do life

    It’s intentional. Measured. Almost like adjusting a thermostat instead of flipping a switch.

    🧠 It Comes Down to Intent

    Same plant. Same time of day. Completely different outcomes.

    • Wake & Bake: “Let’s get high.”
    • Functional Use: “Let’s get right.”

    That shift—from chasing the high to shaping the day—is where a lot of Colorado users land over time.

    🔄 The Evolution

    Experience changes the relationship.

    What starts as wake-and-bake energy often turns into something more refined:

    • Less about escape
    • More about balance
    • Less autopilot, more awareness

    And yeah, sometimes that just means one extra pull with your morning coffee—not because you need it, but because you know exactly what it does.

    Final Thought

    Morning use isn’t the story.

    Intent is.

  • Castle Rock Weather: Commitment Issues in Forecast Form

    They’re calling for snow tomorrow.

    And yeah—we need it. The ground’s dry, the air’s been playing desert, and moisture is basically overdue. So logically, this is a good thing.

    But let’s not pretend it doesn’t suck a little.

    Because right now? It’s warm. It’s pleasant. It’s “maybe I don’t need a jacket” weather.

    And then Friday rolls in like:
    “Cool story—here’s 35 degrees, wind, and snow to do it in.”

    Classic Castle Rock. The Palmer Divide doesn’t just get weather—it auditions for it.

    You almost have to respect the whiplash:
    One day you’re thinking about grilling…
    Next day you’re wondering where that one glove disappeared to.

    Still—bring it on.

    We’ll take the moisture. We’ll complain about it. We’ll act surprised like this doesn’t happen every single year.

    And by Sunday?
    We’ll be back in the sun like nothing ever happened.

    Because around here, weather isn’t a season—it’s a personality disorder.

  • Castle Rock, Gas Pumps, and the Art of Getting the Order Right

    There are days when life in Castle Rock feels simple. Big sky. Dry air. A steady Colorado rhythm if you’re paying attention.

    And then there are gas pumps.

    Two years after a stroke, I’ve learned something I didn’t expect: it’s rarely the big challenges that trip you up—it’s the small, everyday sequences hiding inside normal life.

    Give me conversation, memory, reflection, meaning—I’m solid.

    Put me in front of a modern gas pump?

    Now I’m in a four-step escape room designed by chaos.

    Card in.

    Card out.

    Zip code.

    Select grade.

    Wait—no—don’t touch that yet.

    The machine changes its mind more than I do.

    The real issue isn’t the task. It’s the order. That invisible “what comes next” thread that used to run automatically… now sometimes tangles.

    So I do what works: I slow it down and run a script.

    Card.

    Zip.

    Grade.

    Nozzle.

    Simple. Repeatable. Grounded.

    And honestly, that’s been the theme lately—breaking life into steps small enough that they stop arguing back.

    Castle Rock has its own rules

    If you’re going to call yourself local, you’d better get the spelling right.

    It’s Castle Rock. Two words. Always.

    Not “Castlerock.” Not “Castle rock.”

    That’s the kind of mistake that quietly tells on you. Like showing up to a job site with spotless boots and no dust on them. Technically fine… socially suspicious.

    This place has a mix of long-time Colorado rhythm and newer arrivals still figuring out the cadence. You learn to read the difference.

    The outlet mall economy of real life gear

    Then there’s the other institution: the outlet stores.

    Out here, it’s less “shopping” and more “re-equipping for reality.”

    And one store always stands out—the Columbia outlet.

    That place isn’t about fashion. It’s about function.

    Jackets built for wind that feels like it has opinions. Layers for weather that can’t decide what season it is. Gear that doesn’t try to impress anyone—it just refuses to quit.

    That mindset fits here: buy it once, use it hard, keep it alive as long as physics allows.

    There’s a quiet pride in that kind of durability. The kind you don’t talk about much—you just wear it.

    Even when it starts to look like it’s been through a few negotiations with nature and lost a couple.

    Everything becomes a system eventually

    The gas pump. The town spelling. The gear you trust. Even errands.

    It all becomes sequencing.

    Step one. Step two. Step three.

    And when your brain doesn’t always trust the order anymore, you adapt the system instead of fighting it.

    Slower. Clearer. More intentional.

    Not broken—just recalibrated.

    Small wins still count

    Some days the win is obvious.

    Other days, it’s simple:

    No mistakes at the gas pump.

    No frustration spike.

    No reset needed.

    Just clean execution of something ordinary that used to feel unpredictable.

    And that’s enough.

    Actually—it’s more than enough. That’s how stability gets rebuilt.

    One sequence at a time.

    Tags

    #CastleRock #ColoradoLife #StrokeRecovery #ExecutiveFunction #EverydayWins #AdaptiveLiving

  • Castle Rock, Gas Pumps, and the Art of Getting the Order Wrong (Until You Don’t)

    There are days when life in Castle Rock feels simple. Big sky. Dry air. A quiet rhythm to everything if you know where to look.

    And then there are gas pumps.

    If you know, you know.

    Two years after a stroke, I’ve learned something kind of unexpected: it’s not the big stuff that trips you up—it’s the tiny, invisible sequencing problems hiding inside everyday life. Give me a conversation, give me a long thought, give me meaning and memory and reflection—I’m good.

    But put me in front of a modern gas pump?

    Suddenly I’m in a four-step escape room designed by someone who hates me personally.

    Card in.

    Card out.

    Zip code.

    Select grade.

    Wait—no—don’t touch that yet.

    The machine changes its mind more than I do.

    The real issue isn’t the task. It’s the order. That invisible “what comes next” thread that used to run quietly in the background of everything… now occasionally tangles.

    So I do what works: I slow it down. I run a script.

    Card.

    Zip.

    Grade.

    Nozzle.

    Simple. Repeatable. Human-scale.

    And weirdly enough, that’s been the theme of a lot of life lately—breaking things down until they stop arguing back.

    Castle Rock is full of small tests like that

    Even the culture here has its own sequencing rules. First rule: if you’re going to call yourself local, you’d better know how to spell it.

    It’s Castle Rock. Two words. Always.

    Not “Castlerock.” Not “Castle rock.” Those are immediate tells. Like showing up to a job site with brand-new boots and no dirt on them. Technically fine… socially suspicious.

    And honestly, it’s funny how those little details matter here. Because this place is a mix of old Colorado rhythm and newer “did I move here last summer?” energy. You learn to spot the difference pretty quickly.

    The factory store economy of survival gear

    Then there’s the other Castle Rock institution: the outlet mall.

    It’s not really shopping here—it’s logistics.

    You don’t “browse” so much as you re-equip for reality.

    And one store in particular has earned its reputation: Columbia.

    That place isn’t about fashion. It’s about endurance.

    Jackets for wind that feels like it has a personal agenda. Layers for days when Colorado forgets what season it’s pretending to be. Gear that isn’t trying to impress anyone—it’s just trying to survive.

    It fits a certain mindset perfectly: buy it once, use it hard, keep it alive as long as physics allows.

    There’s a quiet pride in that. The kind of pride that shows up in a jacket that looks like it’s seen things… and is still refusing to retire.

    Everything becomes a system eventually

    The gas pump. The town spelling. The gear you wear. Even the errands you run.

    It all becomes sequencing.

    Step one. Step two. Step three.

    And when your brain doesn’t always trust the order anymore, you build your own version of the system. Slower. Clearer. Less automatic, more intentional.

    It’s not about fixing yourself. It’s about adapting the flow so life stops tripping over itself.

    Small wins still count

    Some days the win is big and obvious.

    Other days, it’s just:

    No mistakes at the gas pump.

    No frustration spike.

    No reset needed.

    Just clean execution of a tiny, ordinary task that used to feel like a moving target.

    And that’s enough.

    Actually—it’s more than enough. It’s how you stack stability back into place.

    One sequence at a time.

    Castle Rock

    CastleRock

    sequencing

    Stroke

    The Columbia Store

    Frustration spikes

  • Daily Journal — March 16, 2026

    Daily Journal — March 16, 2026

    8:00 AM and my phone rings.

    It’s Mr. George from WP. That alone kind of freaked me out—nobody calls that early unless something’s wrong, especially from Mr. George. But I answered anyway. Turns out he was “just” already bored at 8 AM on his first day off of the week.

    The last time the G-man called me was about a while ago when they had a mechanical issue on the gondola and had to break the ropes out. He gave me a full play-by-play of what was happening up there. Later that night I saw the same story on 9News.

    Today’s report from GMan: a couple of his lift maintenance snowmobiles were tied up dealing with kids and moms who were wandering into the closed lift area down by the snowmaking pond. Apparently that’s the first morning adventure of the day.

    I apologized for not calling him lately. Truth is, we just haven’t been heading up there much. The snow kind of sucks right now, and when the snow sucks, the motivation to make the trip in traffic disappears pretty fast.

    Still, it was good hearing from him. Funny how a random 8 AM phone call can suddenly drop a little WP into a quiet morning down here.

  • Not a nice day

    Not a nice day

    Daily Journal — March 15, 2026

    It snowed last night and the wind is gusting up to 30 mph. That’s the kind of weather that politely suggests staying home and minding your business.

    Because of that, we’re not making the trip to Fort Collins to visit my folks today. No sense wrestling the roads when they’re in a bad mood. We’ll try again next week when Colorado decides to behave itself.

  • Gravity Is Undefeated — But I’m Still Standing

    Gravity Is Undefeated — But I’m Still Standing

    Gravity Is Undefeated

    Adjusting Effort

    There’s a difference between avoiding effort and adjusting effort.

    For a long time, I couldn’t tell the difference.

    If I took a day off, I felt guilty.

    If I took a week off, I felt like I was sliding backward.

    After a brain injury and a stroke, effort isn’t just about willpower. My nervous system doesn’t always fire evenly. That shows up in my gait. In the limp. In recovery time.

    Explaining it mechanically keeps it neurological instead of moral.

    I’m not lazy.

    I’m recalibrating.

    2. The Shower Debate

    Two days without a shower.

    Not because hygiene doesn’t matter — but because the effort had a cost.

    When you’re managing pain, recovery, and energy regulation, even a shower becomes a negotiation.

    “If I’m not working out, why shower?”

    Then I stepped in.

    Hot water. Steam. Stillness.

    When I got out, I didn’t feel perfect.

    I felt good.

    Sometimes maintenance isn’t about productivity.

    It’s about momentum.

    3. Weed Day

    There’s ritual in it.

    Cleaning the supply. Replacing it. Air moving through the house. Fan on. Draft from bathroom to office.

    Outside, Castle Rock hums with loud trucks and hard acceleration. It feels aggressive sometimes.

    Outside is stimulus. Inside is control.

    Inside the house, it’s different.

    Slower breathing. Quieter thoughts. Contained space.

    I’m not hiding.

    I’m regulating.

    4. The Walk

    The elementary school route should be simple.

    But engines rev. Throttle echoes. My nervous system spikes before logic arrives.

    No one has hit me.

    No one has swerved at me.

    But unpredictability feels unsafe.

    Loud acceleration doesn’t mean danger — but my body reads it as volatility.

    If the vehicles were quiet and steady, I would enjoy the walk.

    That distinction matters.

    I’m not avoiding outside.

    I’m managing overstimulation.

    5. Rebuilding the Plan

    I told my physical therapist:

    “This plan has kept me in pain.”

    We scrapped it.

    Now it’s Monday, Wednesday, Friday — stretch days.

    Structure without punishment.

    The Gazelle machine isn’t discipline theater.

    It’s not punishment. It’s preservation.

    It’s mobility insurance.

    It’s future-proofing.

    I want to do this.

    6. The 3 A.M. Window

    I woke between 3 and 5 a.m. Wide awake.

    Not anxious. Just alert.

    So I played my weed-growing game.

    When I woke again at 7:30, I felt calm. Focused. Motivated.

    Observation instead of judgment.

    Optimization instead of shame.

    Even my curiosity about upgrading tools — premium software, better output, more structure — isn’t impulsive.

    It’s strategy.

    7. Gravity Still Sucks

    Let’s get this out of the way:

    Gravity is undefeated.

    If you’ve got a complaint, take it up with Isaac Newton. He turned a falling apple into law, and now we all live under it.

    Gravity doesn’t negotiate.

    It doesn’t care how motivated you are.

    It waits.

    People say, “He fell.”

    No.

    Gravity collected.

    Every wobble. Every misstep.

    It doesn’t need drama.

    Just opportunity.

    If gravity is always pulling down, then every time you stand up, you’re resisting the universe.

    Standing isn’t neutral.

    Walking isn’t casual.

    It’s defiance.

    Newton wrote the equation.

    He didn’t solve for grit.

    And sometimes, grit wins — at least for today

  • About Me and Why I Write

    About Me and Why I Write

    First and foremost, it gives me something solid to show for my day.

    Not every day comes with visible progress. Recovery is slow. Thoughts are messy. Time can slip by without anything concrete to point to. But when I write, there it is — a page, a post, a record. Proof that I showed up.

    Writing turns an invisible day into something tangible.

    There is only one boss: my spell check.

    No committee. No performance review. No applause meter. Just me, the keyboard, and the quiet discipline of putting words together in a way that makes sense. Spell check might argue with me, but it’s a fair boss. It doesn’t care about status. It doesn’t care about noise. It just wants clarity.

    I like that.

    Writing slows my thinking down enough for me to see it. It forces honesty. If a sentence doesn’t work, I fix it. If a thought doesn’t hold up, I reshape it. That process feels constructive. It feels like progress.

    On days when everything feels scattered, writing gathers things up.

    On days when the world is loud, writing gives me control over the volume.

    And at the end of it, I have something real — something I made.

    That’s why I like to write.

    Version two

    Day One Journal Entry

    One Journaling App

    I need to convince myself to stick with just one journaling app, and I’m leaning toward Day One.

    There’s something about having everything in one place that feels calmer — less scattered, less searching. One timeline. One archive. One habit.

    When I bounce between apps, it works, but it also feels unfinished. Like I’m halfway committed in two directions. Choosing one feels intentional.

    Day One is built for journaling. It feels like a home for thoughts, not just a storage bin. That matters.

    Recovery after my stroke isn’t dramatic or linear. It’s slow, repetitive, and easy to lose track of. Writing gives that process structure. It helps me notice patterns, track progress, and make sense of days when my thinking feels foggy or uneven. When my brain gets overwhelmed, the page doesn’t. It waits.

    Writing things down is part of how I rebuild clarity — one entry at a time.

    In other news, I still have some sativa left over from a half‑gram joint from my stepbrother John. It’s early. I could change my mind. But honestly, I think I’m good for the day.

    Living with a traumatic brain injury has made clarity not just helpful, but essential.

    Clarity feels better than drifting.