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This week finally feels like it’s turning a corner. That cough I’ve been dragging around for weeks is finally easing up, and I can actually breathe without sounding like I’m auditioning for a tragic period drama. Even the inhaler isn’t knocking me sideways anymore, which feels like a small victory.
Saturday was one of those rare, really good days. I got to spend the whole day with my sister — something we don’t get nearly enough of. We ended up at the movies, which is basically my happy place. Dinner and a movie will forever be my idea of the perfect date. Simple, affordable, and it just works.
We saw Devil Wears Prada 2, and honestly, it surprised me in the best way. If you loved the first one, this sequel feels like a natural continuation. Somewhere in the middle of it, I had this moment where I realized how much Anne Hathaway’s role in The Intern mirrors what Andy could’ve become — the boss who once learned from a boss. This version of Andy is older, wiser, more grounded. A few familiar faces show up, and they definitely left the door cracked open for a part three. A couple filler moments, sure, but overall it flowed beautifully.
After the movie, we wandered around, grabbed lunch, and I picked up a Regal Cinemas Cup Funko Pop. I’d show it off, but I’m currently dressed for a Zoom call and not about to go digging through bags. It’ll get its moment.
Sunday rolled in with my usual routine — my weekly 9:30 a.m. call with Mom. We talk for at least an hour, sometimes more, and it’s become one of those grounding rituals I really look forward to. The weather was warm enough for shorts, so I headed to the farmers market for sourdough and honey. The honey was pricey but worth it, especially knowing it came from a local micro‑farm. SNAP EBT matched my $5, so I walked away with $10 in tokens. The bread, however, was long gone. That’s what I get for showing up late. Next time, Saturday morning it is.
Monday’s YMCA aerobics class absolutely wrecked me. And that was the light version. My thighs, knees, calves, shins, hips, and lower back all filed formal complaints. The soreness stuck around through Tuesday, but honestly, I needed that kind of push. Walking isn’t cutting it anymore, so I’m leaning into a mix of aerobics and swimming. Maybe aerobics on Mondays and Thursdays, swimming on Tuesdays and Fridays. Still figuring out the rhythm, but it feels good to be moving again.
Since the market betrayed me on the bread front, I’ve been daydreaming about baking my own sourdough — stuffed with whole garlic cloves and fresh rosemary. The kind where the garlic turns buttery and soft inside the loaf. Egg wash on top for shine. Slice it up next to a caprese salad with Trader Joe’s balsamic glaze (now $3.99 because inflation is rude). And yes, that glaze is incredible on vanilla ice cream. Don’t knock it till you try it.
Today I’ve got an in‑person therapy session, and I’ve been gathering old paperwork to bring with me. I found my Social Security hearing documents — evaluations, scores, notes, depositions. Reading through them was… a lot. Strange seeing yourself through the eyes of professionals who only knew fragments of your life. Still, I’m grateful for the chance to process it all face‑to‑face.
It’s also been a week full of unexpected community moments. A pharmacist asked if I ever finished my book (published November 2023 — wild). I told her I’d sign a copy if she picks one up. Same offer went out to a friend’s sister at the bar. At this point, half the town knows me, so getting a signed copy is basically a local scavenger hunt.
And then there was the parking lot conversation at the market. I ran into someone I’ve seen at her lowest. A helicopter flew overhead for a Flight for Life call — they stage at our tiny airport near the Canadian border — and she teared up. The kind of tears that reminded me of my biological mom’s struggles. She’s clean now but dealing with friends slipping into psychosis. My gut said, “Talk to her,” so I did. We stood there between parked cars having a real conversation — no office, no clipboard, just two humans trying to figure life out.
Before we parted, I shook her hand and said, “I’m Michael. I’m proud of you. You’ve seen rock bottom. Don’t let anyone drag you back there.” She asked if I was an angel. I laughed. “I’ve been called worse.” Sometimes the best counseling happens in the most ordinary places.
So that’s the week — healing lungs, movie epiphanies, sore muscles, bread cravings, therapy prep, and community connection. A reminder that progress isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s a conversation in a parking lot or a loaf of bread you haven’t baked yet.
You’re doing the best you can with what you’ve got. Don’t let anyone else define your worth. In a world full of Karens, choose to care.
Thanks for reading.
