The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: Mindset & well-being

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

  • Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    When Silence Has Claws.

    For years prior, I would wonder what it would be like to sit in silence. Not just, “oh, this is rather quiet”, kind of quiet.

    No music. No podcasts. No background noise to hold me together.

    Pure silence.

    Just me, my steering wheel, and everything I thought I’d buried deep enough to never hear again.

    At first, I tried to talk to myself out loud — about the weather, what I was making for dinner, the errands I needed to run. Anything to keep the thoughts at bay.

    But the silence didn’t care.

    It waited.

    And the more I filled that space with meaningless conversation, the more the real voices — the ones I keep locked up — started to rise.

    “You’re a failure.”

    “You’ve done nothing with your life.”

    “You’ll be forgotten just like all the other nobodies.”

    “Why do you even try?”

    They didn’t whisper.

    They screamed.

    And eventually, I stopped pretending I didn’t hear them.

    I stopped trying to talk over them.

    I gave them the mic.

    And what came out was venom. Acid. Grief. Rage.

    Years of things I never said out loud.

    Years of thoughts that weren’t allowed in the daylight.

    Years of versions of myself clawing at the walls, trying to be heard.

    I hated every word I spoke in that silence.

    But I kept speaking.

    Because for the first time, I wasn’t censoring myself for anyone.

    I wasn’t lying about how I was doing.

    I wasn’t putting a polite filter on survival.

    I gave myself a deadline since I was 12 years old. All because of a gaming mechanic from a game called, “Dragon Age: Origins” (BioWare), where, when you became something called a, “Grey Warden”, you’d have 20 years left to live.

    I wish I could explain why I held onto that idea since then — I don’t know why myself, but it’s been with me for that long. My 20 years draws closer.

    By 32, if life doesn’t feel like it’s worth it — if I’m still drowning and nothing has shifted — I’d end it.

    I wouldn’t leave a mess.

    I’ve already made sure everything I own passes legally to my parents.

    And then I’d be gone.

    Not out of drama.

    Not for attention.

    Just tiredness.

    Quiet, heavy tiredness that no nap can fix.

    But the thing is — I’m also afraid of following through.

    Afraid of how fast it’s moving.

    Afraid of how quickly I’ll get to that deadline.

    Afraid I won’t have built anything by then that makes me want to stay.

    Maybe I’ve been thinking about this deadline in the wrong way. Maybe I don’t need a literal death, rather a different kind of ending is needed. Even by my deadline, I just need to pivot, to change directions, because I can always change my mind. I contradict myself, I’m rarely consistent in my thoughts unless it’s to put myself down, but I keep pushing through that personal miasma and show up anyways.

    So I rage.

    I write.

    I stretch.

    I keep moving.

    I’d rather burn myself out at both ends trying to make something than live quietly. Life has much to offer and I’d want to see as much of it as possible.

    Not out of hope.

    But out of spite.

    Because if I’m going to be forced to exist, I’m going to make noise. Even in the silence.

    You don’t fully meet yourself until the silence strips everything away.

    Until there’s no one else to impress.

    No one else to lie to.

    No more distractions.

    Just you.

    And all your demons are sitting in the front seat asking, “Now what?”

    You Made It Through

    If you’ve ever driven in silence and hated every second of it — If you’ve ever stared into the void of your own thoughts and heard them answer back — I won’t tell you it gets better.

    For me, I’ve learned to sit with myself without destroying myself in the moment like before.

    But you’re not alone when the silence brings up stuff you’d rather not acknowledge, but it does exist here with you in your own moments.

    So, tell me—

    Have you fully met yourself in the silence?

    And if you haven’t…

    What are you afraid you’ll hear?

    If this resonated with you, then I’d like to invite you to check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or even my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No pressure, no spam, just sharing something I made with you for taking the time to check out what I have to share here. Otherwise, I have other articles to share below that might showcase the variety of topics I tend to explore. Other than that, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

  • More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    Strength isn’t just about bulging muscles or how much you can lift. It’s not about fitting into some Instagram-perfect mold or checking off a list of “womanly” or “manly” boxes. For me, real strength is something deeper — the kind that makes you stand tall when the world expects you to crumble. It’s the fire that keeps you pushing through pain, doubt, and all the noise telling you you’re not enough. This is how I’d define strength. Not just the physical, but the grit, rage, and pride that build me — every damn day.

    Not Your Idea of Strength: What I’m Really Fighting For.

    I’m not here to fit into anyone’s idea of “strong.” I’m here to be my kind of strong.

    Not just the physical kind — though yeah, I want that too. I want to feel so solid in my own skin that I forget what low self-esteem or doubt even feel like. I want my presence to scream, “I’m here, I can handle my shit”, instead of, “look at that weak, stupid bitch”.

    Growing up, I never asked to be born a girl. I was taught to not cause waves and the things I like(d) were mostly masculine — in fact, I was often told to be quiet, to hold my tongue, to not start things I couldn’t finish. I was expected to fit into a box I never chose.

    But I Refused to Stay Small

    I wanted strength that went beyond appearances — strength to stand tall when everything inside me wanted to collapse. Strength to keep going when my body ached and my mind was exhausted. Strength to say, “fuck this bullshit”, that’s been handed to me just because of my gender or my past.

    I’m proud of the scars on my arms, the callouses on my hands, the pure stubbornness that keeps me fighting even when it’s easier to give up. I’m proud of the fact that I’ve carved out my own space in a world that often tries to minimize people like me.

    This kind of strength isn’t pretty. It’s raw, messy, and sometimes it’s downright ugly. But it’s real. And it’s mine.

    If you’re tired of being underestimated, tired of being the “weak link” in someone else’s story, maybe you’ll find something here too. Maybe it’s time to stop shrinking yourself to fit what others expect and start owning your space, your voice, your story.

    I’m not perfect. I’m angry, messy, and still figuring things out. But I’m here. I’m fighting. And I’m not going anywhere.

    Maybe that’s where real strength begins.

    So here’s to owning your strength, whatever that looks like for you. Whether you’re wrestling with life, pain, or people who underestimate you — don’t let them define your power. Be proud of every scar, every hard-earned callous, and every time you choose to stand when you could have fallen. Because real strength? It’s not about being perfect. It’s about being unbreakable on your own terms. What does strength look like to you?

    If you’ve ever felt underestimated, misunderstood, or overlooked—this one’s for you. How do you reclaim your power?

    If This Resonated…

    Subscribe to the blog — I write about survival, dreaming, burnout, and why we keep going. Leave a comment — even just one word. I’d love to know what this stirred in you. Share this post — maybe someone else needs it too.

    You could also check out my first newsletter, You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything. Or check out my PDF as a thank you from me to you, The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    No spam, no pressure, just sharing things I’ve made since starting this project of mine.

    Other than that, I will see you all later in the archives.

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

  • The Burden I Carry is Freed: I Started Blogging As I Had No One to Talk To.

    Why do you blog?

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, choking on my own thoughts. I had no one to talk to, so I turned to a blank page instead. Since then, I’ve written over 50 blog posts — not because I had a plan, but because I needed to feel something.

    — The Archivist

    Blogging My Way Out of Silence

    Three months ago, I was stacking boxes in a warehouse, suffocating under fluorescent lights and the weight of my own thoughts. I felt like I was disappearing — not in a poetic way, but in that quiet, invisible kind of way where no one asks how you’re doing, and you stop knowing how to answer if they ever did.

    So I started blogging.

    Not because I had a plan. Not because I thought I’d be good at it.

    But because I had nowhere else to put the things that lived in my head.

    I Blog Because I Wanted to Feel Alive

    For years, I kept myself small. I buried my curiosity beneath jobs, routines, silence. I didn’t think anyone would care what I had to say, so I stopped saying anything at all. But something in me couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

    Blogging became a way to write myself back into existence.

    To prove — if only to myself — that I was here. That I am here.

    That I’m not just a forgotten footnote in a story I didn’t ask to be part of.

    From Warehouse Floor to Digital Garden

    Since I started, I’ve written over 50 articles, shared thoughts on dozens of different topics, and published every single one without pretending to be an expert. I wrote because I needed to. I wrote for 18 days straight. I built a digital garden to house the chaos. I made a manifesto — something I could hold in my hands and say: “This is mine.”

    I have 4 subscribers.

    One comment.

    200+ scattered likes and visits.

    It’s not viral. It’s not monetized. But it’s real.

    And that’s more than I had before.

    The Burden I Carry Is Free

    I named this post after a phrase that kept haunting me: The burden I carry is free.

    All these thoughts and feelings and desires I hold — they don’t cost anything. No one asks me to carry them. But they’re heavy. So heavy.

    Blogging gave me somewhere to lay them down.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m too much.

    Sometimes I feel like I’m not enough.

    Sometimes I feel like I’ll explode from overthinking, and sometimes I feel absolutely nothing at all.

    And still, I write.

    Music That Speaks When I Can’t

    There’s a French artist I found recently, Indila. Her song “Parle à ta tête” loops in my ear like a mantra. I don’t even know French, but something in her voice feels like she’s talking directly to me from across time and the sea. I might not be struggling with fame, but I do know that the performative aspects of living is unbearable.

    Let me live as myself— free to express, explore, to know I am alive as I feel deeply, unapologetically, and real. Not as a fake, not as someone who might eventually be lost to time, not even making it into the cliff notes of life. This is my mark, this is my proof that I was here, and I wonder if anyone else feels this same pressure to perform, even if we aren’t under the same spotlight as celebrities, we still are on the world’s stage after all.

    I’ve been listening to “Monster” from Epic: The Musical, too — and it hits deeper than I expected. It echoes that internal voice that tells me I’m selfish for wanting more, broken for feeling differently. Like I should be grateful, quiet, small, and I’m a monster for thinking otherwise.

    But then I play “Legendary,” also from Epic, and I remember:

    There’s still a part of me that believes in more.

    There’s still a part of me that hopes and I shouldn’t be ashamed of wanting more or being conflicted all at once. The dissonance is real, yet what happens when we want to break free from our shells, free from what is in exchange for what could be? Is that really being foolish or are we seeing something we can’t ignore anymore?

    Even I haven’t figured that out, but I lean towards, “Yes — I saw something and I want more of it in my life. Is that so wrong?”

    Blogging for Survival, Not Fame

    Originally, I hoped this blog might help me make a little money. Just enough to buy time. Breathing room. A chance to chase my curiosity full-time. But I found myself torn between writing honestly and writing for clicks.

    I’m not a content machine. I’m not a brand. I’m just someone with a lot of feelings and a need to be heard.

    But I still want this to grow. Not for fame or appeasing the algorithms — but for connection.

    Because I know there are others out there like me, staring at a blank screen, or walking their own version of a warehouse floor wondering if anyone else feels this lost and full at the same time.

    If that’s you — I see you.

    Maybe You’ve Felt This Too

    • Like you’re disappearing, slowly.
    • Like you’re carrying too much and no one knows.
    • Like your thoughts are too loud, and your world is too quiet.
    • Like you’re terrified of dying before you’ve ever really lived.

    If so — you’re not broken. You’re not alone.

    There’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Or needing a way to be seen.

    Where Do I Go From Here?

    Ain’t that the kicker — I don’t know myself exactly.

    Maybe I’ll offer a zine. Or a newsletter. Or something small you can hold onto when your own thoughts get too loud. I have a PDF you can look into as well.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Maybe someone will read this and decide to start writing again or start that something they said they’d do someday.

    Or for the first time.

    Or simply whisper, “Me too.”

    That’s enough for me right now.

    I don’t write because I have the answers or I’m an expert at anything.

    I write because I need to remember I’m still here.

    And maybe, if you’ve read this far, you do too.

    Want to Support or Connect?

    If any part of this resonated, you can:

    Subscribe to the blog — I share honest, raw reflections like this often. Buy me a coffee (Coming soon?) — Support helps me keep creating without forcing performance. Or leave a comment — I’d love to hear your story too. Even a simple, “same”, is enough for me to know someone gets it and I’m not always writing into the oblivion alone.

    You’re Still Here — And That’s Enough.

    Thank you for reading this. Really.

    I don’t know who will find this post, but if you’re reading these last words, just know — I’m glad you’re still here. And I hope you keep going.

    Your thoughts matter.

    Your voice matters.

    And maybe, just maybe — your story’s only getting started.

    Below are other articles you could check out, just because. No pressure, no need to rush, just options to explore. From this part of the void to yours, until next time.

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    What post of mine stuck with you—and why?”

    “What would you want to see more of?”

    “Would you support this space if I offered a way to?”

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    Keep Writing — Your Freedom, Time, and Sanity Are on the Line

  • Movement Offers Me With A Reprieve and Contentment

    Describe one habit that brings you joy.

    What I Use to Be Consistent

    Physical movement has given me a sense of contentment; maybe not outright joy or elation, but rather a sense of being present and small doses of dopamine. When I’m strolling around, working out, even doing chores, I’m focused on the task at hand than ruminating about my mistakes or anxiously fearing the future. I’m temporarily present in the moment and I feel a brief relief from life.

    More often, I’ll take short walks around the block to collect coins and cards on this app called, WeWard, my family got me into using it. Like any fitness tracking app, it’ll count your steps, (total) distance, and how much calories you burned for the day.

    The difference, and this is my assumption, is that WeWard lets you compete with family and friends that you’re following, are being followed back, you are rewarded coins for hitting milestones that can be converted into real money, you can gain experience points while competing with people in the same league as you, and it practically incentivizes you to keep walking consistently.

    You could walk the dog, take a stroll, do chores, walk to the store, very likely even using a skateboard, a hoverboard, roller skates, gliding, using a wheelchair, an electric scooter, or floating in midair, whatever you have available! Seriously, if you work on an airport and you drive the tugs, it counts! I’ve tried it at work when driving because I’m allowed to have my phone in case my radio is out of range and I can’t reach my job.

    As long as you are moving, and the app is able to calculate your distance traveled, you are able to benefit from this app. It also, like many things that gamify our real life progress, it has a consistency streak that keeps track how engage you are per day. I’m going on to being consistent with submitting my steps for 85 days now, I don’t want to break this streak, and I’m going to keep collecting experience points, coins, and cards to progress in my app and until I have enough coins to convert into gift cards.

    Quick Mention

    I’m not an affiliate of this app, I don’t benefit financially from sharing this app, unless it’s for referral then I’ll get 50 coins per referral to the app. I’ve found it very useful since I was against it initially – thought it was going to be something my family would try then stop using, but its going to be close to 3 months, so its being used for its intended purpose.

    I would benefit most if people gave this app a try, found it useful, and if they could share how they fare from using it in the comments below. Thank you for reading this one!

  • Similar, But Not The Same

    How would you describe yourself to someone?

    I wouldn’t know where to begin if I were to describe myself to someone, be it familiar or stranger. No two people would say the same thing twice. I could be anything to anyone at any point in time:

    • Friendly
    • Empty
    • Neurotic
    • Dull
    • Lazy
    • Bitter
    • Angry
    • Excited
    • Loyal
    • Curious
    • Inquisitive
    • Experimental

    I could be everything in between or nothing at all to anyone. I could be polarizing, neutral, or static, but the answer changes and it’s never consistent. We’re all the strange phenomena of, “Schrödinger’s Cat” – we’re all walking paradoxes of being both alive and dead – we’ll never know the answer unless we open the box, right?

    Even if my task is to describe myself to someone, I wouldn’t be able to. I, myself, have an insufficient vocabulary, so, I wouldn’t have much words to properly express myself well. I am whatever the other person perceives me to be and nothing – reputation or action – could change their mind. I’ve slowly have come to terms with not changing someone else’s mind. Trying to is a terrible waste of time, energy, and resources.

    The one thing that I could share though, despite it all, is that I’m still here; I’m still navigating the complexities of life and seeking simple pleasures wherever and however I can. I know I’ve made strides from the person I used to be to be who I’ve grown into, but old patterns linger and have festered when I thought they were gone. Nope. Out of sight, sure, but never far from mind.

    So, in essence, I’m still fighting to live, fighting to remain, the only word here is fight. I might not be standing on a blue mat, I’ve been thrown around by life, be it by choice or circumstance: surviving, battered, beaten, bloodied, even without obvious evidence showing otherwise. I get up against my severe need for rest and I keep getting slammed anyways. Eventually, I’ll be able to retaliate, I’m bidding my time and waiting for the chance to strike. I know how far I’ve traveled in my own journey, some people don’t need an explanation, only I do and that’s enough.

  • When You Think Your Car Was Stolen (It Wasn’t) and What to Do Next Time Around:

    Deep Breaths Before Freaking Out:

    Welcome, Co-conspirators, to The Stratagem’s Archives, and it is open for perusing. Recently, I, your humble narrator and purveyor of meticulous plans, was taught a lesson – a valuable one – and, thankfully, it ended up being the best case scenario because the worst case would have sent me into a spiral of despair.

    My part-time rage room had pitted me against my ultimate nemesis: parking. In a downtown area where parking is horrendous, customers and employees are allowed to park in another business’s parking garage until spots open up. It’s a 5 minute walk, including the stoplights and the walk up to the garage, a small inconvenience for a mastermind in the making like myself.

    The Moment I Crumbled

    When there was a lull in the chaos at work, I mentioned to my boss and coworker that I was going to retrieve my car, and headed over. As I ascended towards the parking garage, I walked towards the back corner of the lot, and my worst fear unlocked: my car stall was empty.

    My first impulse had always been to contact my parents, my first points of contact for anything, but they weren’t answering my calls. I panicked, then called my boss because I didn’t know what to do or who else to call. Bless his heart because he walked over to where I was to help as I struggled to maintain my composure. My boss, ever the pragmatist, spoke to the security guard on my behalf.

    The security guard, a surprising font of wisdom, mentioned that patrons often misplace their vehicles in this labyrinthine garage. They hadn’t towed anyone in months, he reassured us, despite the downtown area’s reputation for vehicular heists. I managed a shaky nod, agreeing to take “one more look.”

    A Villain’s Humiliation, A Hero’s Resolve

    I swear, in that moment, I’d never wanted to slap myself so hard in my life until that night. While I waited, my amazing Aunty appeared, dispatched by my now-reachable parents who were mobilizing other family members. She sat with me, a calm presence amidst my unraveling. My boss, having confirmed with the security guard that all was well, headed back to his work.

    My aunty, a seasoned veteran of downtown skirmishes, then delivered a surprisingly profound message. She herself had faced the predatory tactics of local towing companies – notorious for being petty thieves who can charge exorbitant fees, vehicle theft, and unhelpful interactions with the police. “I’m glad this happened,” she said, “because now you’ve experienced what this area is really like.” She emphasized the importance of documentation, of relying on evidence rather than my “fallible memory” in a district known for vehicular thefts. Her wisdom resonated deeply.

    And so, with renewed resolve, I took that “one more look.” I walked up one more floor and there it was, my trusty vehicle, precisely where I had left it. I had been diligently searching the second floor, when my car had been patiently waiting for me on the third floor all along. Upon returning to work, and later, when I arrived home, I made sure to take pictures of my car, just as my aunty advised.

    I took her advice to heart, immediately snapping photos of my car when I returned to work and again when I finally got home. I also had to issue a series of apologies to my boss and all the family members I had unnecessarily alarmed. Despite my embarrassment—being 28, I truly felt I should have “known better,” reacting impulsively instead of proactively assessing the situation—everyone reassured me that such mishaps are common. I thanked them all for their invaluable support, vowing to do better next time.

    A New Stratagem: The Deep Breath & Documentation Protocol

    This misadventure, my co-conspirators, taught me a crucial lesson. Even the most cunning among us can be blindsided by our own panicked assumptions. My villainous tendencies, in this instance, led me to prematurely declare defeat and, worse, to neglect the power of proactive measures.

    My commitment to you, and to my own continued reign of… well, whatever it is I’m reigning over, is this: Next time, when the unexpected strikes, I will implement the Deep Breath & Documentation Protocol. Before succumbing to the urge to declare immediate catastrophe, I will take a moment, survey the scene with a clear mind, and double-check my initial assumptions. Furthermore, I will ensure I have a visual record, a digital alibi, to counter any potential memory lapses or external threats. I will not repeat this mistake, and I hope those who read my blog can learn from my temporary lapse in judgment.

    For those of you, my equally neurotic co-conspirators, who might also find yourselves teetering on the edge of a freak-out, remember my ignominious tale. Before you unleash your inner panic monster, take a deep breath. Seriously. Just one. Then, maybe, another. And if circumstances allow, snap a quick photo. Often, the solution is much simpler (and far less catastrophic) than your racing mind leads you to believe, and a little evidence can save you a lot of grief.

    What minor misstep has sent your carefully constructed plans into a temporary tailspin? Let me know in the comments below and I will see you all again when the archives open!

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