I just got done with therapy. I have a show – The Blob at the Magnet – in an hour and a half. I’m eating a chopped salad for dinner. I’m alone and there are only a handful of people up here in the seating area.

I’m writing this on my phone in an ‘Essen on 6th Avenue. I’m a tech phobic web developer who wants to blog every day, so, it’s fortuitous that I discovered that WordPress’s Jetpack plugin makes it possible to do this. (Verizon told me that I’m out of data for the month and I’m sure my battery will die soon but I’ve gotta write.)

My therapist told me I seem less anxious but, as even he will admit, he’s grading on a curve. Still, sometimes it’s nice to pause and recognize that things are alright and I have nothing to obsess over. (That will change, fear not.)

I don’t know how it’s March already. This is how New Years go, though. Days turn into months and seasons change. Speaking of which, it’s still winter and it’s too damn warm. I’m wearing a t-shirt today.

I turn 41 in ten days. My friend Todd turns 41 today, I sent him my annual Happy Birthday email. He’ll send me one back in ten days. March 1 is so easy to remember since mine is March 11. We’ve been exchanging these birthday emails for probably over a decade, at least I think so. I’m pretty sure there was a “holy shit we’re thirty” one in there. There was definitely a “seventeen has turned thirty-five” one.

Todd helped me so much through my break up this past summer. He was always available for a phone call. He lives in my hometown and teaches at the college where a fair amount of graduates from my high school end up. He’s a good friend and I’m glad I know him.

Things are going well at my day job. I’ve come a long way to arrive at this place, liking a job for its regularity and stability. It could be my forties but more likely it’s just nice to get up and have somewhere to go and some tasks to accomplish with a good team of people. I hadn’t had that for so long.

There’s a quote that says the three most addictive things are heroin, carbohydrates, and a monthly salary. If a salary is an addiction, then I’m a junky and I’m looking for a fix. If heroin kept a roof over my head and food in my stomach and allowed me to take a trip every now and then, I’d be shooting black tar in an alley.

He’s right about carbs, though, that shit’ll kill you but pita chips are such a nice treat and YOLO, right guys?

Time to wrap it up and head to the theater.

It’s nice, this whole being less anxious thing. I’ve got to try to hold on to this for a bit.