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Photo courtesy of Gratisography

Saturday, October 25th, 2025

Ever since I got back from my trip last week, the shorter days have been hitting me hard. Seattle’s longest day of the year has nearly sixteen hours of daylight. The shortest offers less than eight and a half. That means, on average, the daylight changes about two and a half minutes per day. Right now, the sun isn’t up at seven and it’s already sinking by five. The days are getting shorter, and so is my ability to focus.

Most Sunday mornings for the last few years, I’ve started the day mapping out my week ahead. I review my calendars—work, personal, and otherwise—to see what’s coming: meetings, deadlines, when I need to be in office, gym days, social plans (dog-related or human), appointments, and whatever else needs to be dealt with.

Last week marked only the third time in the last nine weeks that I bothered to write it all down. That’s not a great sign—it means I’m not taking care of myself. It’s been nine weeks since I went to the gym, and it’s showing. Friends were in town last week and the house was basically Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. The darkness is coming, and so is the seasonal depression. None of this bodes well, and the rest of the year is shaping up to be biz-zy!

Fun on paper, but chaos in practice.

Halloween party. Concert. Wally off to school. Haircut. House party. Mexico. Willow’s birthday. Thanksgiving. P1 fittings. Wally’s dental surgery. Christmas. New Year’s. It’s a lot. And it starts tonight—I’m dressing up as Maude.

I’m worried about holding it all together—let alone making progress. I already feel like I’m doing a pretty shit job right now.

There’s also the fallout from my trip. The realization that if I want to buy a house—and feel comfortable owning it—I need a job first. I’ve been looking at college-level teaching and patternmaking positions, but nothing feels like a good fit. It’s deflating.

Then I remember: anything worth having takes grit to get. Lately I’ve been operating at the level of a 10,000-grit whetstone when what I need to be is 40-grit sandpaper. I want something, and it’s time to rough it up and go after it. Just having that thought is a good sign.

The last three weeks have been a whirlwind. I hopped on a plane to look at houses and never got to see the one I really wanted. I applied for a job in another country and gave them what was probably, to them, an outrageous salary request. After all the enrichment I’ve been doing with Wally, I made a list of dog toys to prototype. Then I saw that the company making our dress forms for work now offers dog forms in seven sizes—why not clothes too? A quick search for fashion jobs turned up an independent patternmaking company right near where I’m hoping to live. A well-priced mid-century modern house I found—only a seven-minute commute—just went pending.

It’s a see-saw. There are ups and downs, and it will all shake out the way it’s supposed to. It’s frustrating, yes, yet I can feel things shifting. I’m on the upswing. I want something, and I can feel myself pushing to make it happen—whatever it may be. 

Gettin’ Grittier