Checking back on posts from a year ago. This time last year, I was packing up and preparing to move from the Gulag. It really doesn't seem like that long ago, but it was. And I was sick-- I had a cold which was screwing with my exercise routine, which was to become pretty much the end of regular exercise for me, or at least at the level to which I had been going. Things that I was looking forward to-- working on the Big Broken Box™, working on the movie-- those are actually things I got to do, and am still doing, really. It's a hell of a lot more work than I had anticipated, and I have not done everything that I had planned on, but I am actually doing things, which is really where I knew I was heading.

I know that I really need to get back into a regular exercise program at a higher intenity than the dog-walking that I do almost daily. I could get back into riding the bike without a lot of incomvenience, but I have to actually take the time to do it. Since I've failed my saving throw for getting up an hour early, maybe I should take the time to do it at night before I go to bed. There is a distinct line of demarcation in my mood and my mental agility from when I was regularly working out to now. It's not entirely due to exercise, but that is a component. And yeah, it would be all healthier and shit.

It's sometimes hard to see progress. I can see the physical process on the front porch, lately because it's been going so quickly: it's been happening in more a matter of days than months. The rest is much slower, and I can really only see it from looking back.

There should be more happy.