185 Degrees
October 27th, 2025
I enter the climbing gym and there are about a hundred or so people in there. My vision goes parallax, and my head is dizzy. My heart is racing, and I'm not conscious enough to make note of it.
I ask the front desk attendant for some chaulk recommendations, and I get some. I bought my chaulk, then left hurridly. He looked confused.
My e-bike's lights shine in the dark night. I stop at a park briefly to look out at the Bay Bridge and Oracle Park. Salesforce Tower plays her electric dance.
I pass by many bikers as I try to focus on the road, and not on the words that are barraging me.
I stop by a grocery store and buy organic chicken thighs, then come home to preheat the oven.
My grey washed wide jeans came in, alongside my courdoroy polo. I'm kind of excited to wear a new kind of clothes.
Maybe I'll stick to climbing in the mornings.
More Frequent Panic Attacks
I've been focusing on the wrong words, and the language I use has been egging me towards panic attacks and dissociation.
That's why I focus so much on the words I choose in these posts, because if I focus on the wrong ones my heart and mind take a beating.
Bipolar is a word I try to avoid. It's bad. I know. But the language shapes the neurons.
My neural pathways are grooved for mental illness. It's just the life I've lived up to this point.
Let's return to my life.
Actual Life
This morning, I woke and scrolled for a couple hours. I sent a couple reels to my friends. Then I got up and showered as normal.
The A/C I bought has been a Godsend. This afternoon it was beginning to heat up, so I'm glad I have a access to this savior of a black box.
I worked very hard, and DoorDashed some food. I worked the whole eight hours today. There are three to four or so items I need to get in by Friday, so as to get a Friday freed up I want to get my items in.
A senior on my team is tranferring internally. We'll miss him. He was a good engineer and wasn't afraid to speak up. Now, who will speak up when something is wrong?
I called my brother in a Discord call. It was fun to talk to him again. He hasn't seemed to change much. And whenever I ask him a question he'll always give me a non-answer: "it depends."
Yesterday
Yesterday, I sat in a haze. What did I do yesterday? I forgot. A lot of scrolling through reels. Looking at motorcycles to buy off Marketplace. Researching costs.
I sent out a couple offers, but I'd like to see the end of one at least.
I was feeling a bit mentally ill, especially after that dinner with J, so I decided a long run would hit the spot.
In a defiance against W, who ghosted me, I decided to run to Sausalito. Almost ten miles in total, I started in the late afternoon and finished early evening. W had told me once she ran to Sausalito with some friends, so I figured I had to try at least once. And of course beat her puny record of only four miles, as she started from the Marina and ran across Crissy Field.
During the day I passed by many Hispanic hot dog vendors. Chinese international couples. European families and old wealth crowded along the views of the bay shore. As I ascended up the Presidio to cross Golden Gate bridge, there were markings in the trail for gun outposts.
"Gun Site 18."
We may have to use these again one day. Who knows?
Two teenagers were playing underneath in one of the tunnel trails. I was jamming to old school Japanese rap, so I didn't mind them.
As I crossed Golden Gate, I looked to my left in hopes of a sunset. It was too foggy, but the remnant rays showed slightly through. A couple folks were taking photos in Halloween costumes: blue bear, green bear, purple bear. A beautiful view behind them for a funny costume.
I hollered, "I like your costume!"
"Thank you!"
And I ran towards the North Vista Point. Alcatraz, Angel Island, Oakland, San Francisco. Golden Gate. You can see it all from here. Tourists line the cliffsides.
I pull out my map—2.5 miles still. I am cold. The wind had been freezing me in my shorts and barely cotton thin shirt. But for the sake of spiting the W in my head (to finally let her go) I decided to finish.
I run along a highway, down the hills; the houses pop around the corner. Villas worth millions, owned by the White folks of Sausalito.
I pass an Italian place—I would eat there had I not the shame of being underdressed. I pass by all the way to downtown, where I stop at a park. This little stoney stoop—I had taken a photo here with my siblings. A memory of the past; looking towards the city now the lights showered my gaze with a skyline.
There she is. San Francisco. I take a seat on a bench only to find it wet, so I find a stoney ledge on the side and look out. My hands are so cold I can barely make a fist.
A man motions to take a picture of me. I get up and walk to the side. He's taking a picture of the pier. I ask if he'd like a photo, and he simply shook his head.
I miss the 130 by a minute, so I call an Uber. The Uber driver is a Bay Area native. Two kids. Works six days a week. Was a supervisor laid off from the Tesla plant in Fremont. Downsizing. He had been a boxer in his youth, seven years since he was eighteen, but now he was nearing mid-forties, now a dream so long far away. He stopped because he was old and of the injuries. I did not inquire him to pick it up again.
Instead, I asked if he'd let his kids do boxing. A good question, because he had some deliberation to it. I am sure he will think about the question again.
The ramen place I wanted to visit was closed. A yakiniku grill stood in its place, empty. I went inside on accident, then headed out, considering I am underdressed.
I run to 10th Street to find a quaint ramen place. I order two bowls of ramen and two noodle refills. I chuckled as I ordered a meal for two for one, and so did the waiter. The soup was not great, but it's not too salty. It's good.
I take the one line home.
The Positive Effects of Recollection and Diary Writing
I have found this narrative building words I write have been tremendous in restoring my mental health. They give me an ebb and flow to my life.
And I have found that this meta-analysis writing I do has been tremendous in destroying my mental health. I really ought not to do it so often.
Now
Those organic chicken thighs are cooking in my oven. I seared them in lard I bought off Amazon—had I known they sold lard at the farmer's market I would've bought from there.
I slapped in at least three tablespoons into my pan for a medium sear. Pre-heated oven at 425 and slipped in the pan.
I typically cook without a shirt, so I don't stain any of my cotton.
It's late, and I know I'm not supposed to eat late. It disrupts sleep. But sometimes I just get so distracted I can't seem to do the things I ought to do. It's okay. I'll live.
Thoughts had bombarded me during my bike ride. How I'd be alone for the rest of my life. How nobody wanted to invite me to their Halloween party. How this and that and this and that.
But now, well, I am cooking my chicken. I am going to sleep. Tomorrow I'll try on my new outfit: courdoroy and dark washed jeans. I'm curious if they are good quality, and if they are, maybe I will continue to buy from the TikTok shop.
My chicken finishes. The temperature gauge slides in like jello: 185 for all the cuts. I decide to take a bite. Soft like butter. But not enough crunch. I wish my grocery store sold the thighs with skin on, but a man can dream.
I decide that for a non-marinated piece of chicken, the end result is very good. For better result, I'll need to marinate the meat overnight to make it taste any good. The flavoring is weak.
Tomorrow
Tomorrow I plan to climb early in the morning, then if time allows I'll go for a run in the evening. My therapist appointment is tomorrow, and I'm not sure I am looking forward to it.
The TikTok shop clothes were a miss. The stitching was cheap and the interior fabric was itchy. The thread count is not high on the jeans either. My Uniqlo jeans are much higher quality—in other words, you get what you pay for.
Let that be a lesson for me: don't buy cheap if you can! Buy nice or buy twice.