Tag Archives: anxiety

The Frist 36 Hours

Most of this story is true, I think.  Some of it was hallucinated.  A portion of it had to be told to me because I had no recollection of what was going on during part of it.  Some of it was dreamt and some of it was just there when I would close my eyes, like a video that only I could see playing on my eyelids, all while being wide awake.  None of the first 36 hours or so after I had open-heart surgery was pretty.  For a bit, I didn’t know what was real or what was being made up in my drug-induced imagination.  And I have no idea what all medications I was on at any given time during or following surgery, but I think the combination of all those drugs made my comprehension of current events questionable and my memory of those events a little whacky.  But this is how I think it all happened.

The first thing I remember after surgery was waking up with some kind of endotracheal tube in my mouth running down my throat.  I don’t really remember the tube being removed, but I do remember the pain from the tube being removed.  It hurt my throat.  I also remember darkness and calling out for help.  I remember being scared, but I couldn’t remember why I was there or how I had gotten to where I was.  At that point, so I was told later, I became uncooperative and combative with the nursing staff.  I don’t remember that, but I believe it because I can remember how scared I was.  I do remember accusing the nurse of purposely trying to let me die because she wasn’t helping me.  That’s what I thought anyway.  But of course, she was helping me, I just couldn’t see it.  I remember asking and begging for them to let me see my wife.  My wife was by my side that whole time, holding my hand.  But I couldn’t recognize her and, according to her, I thought she was trying to kill me as well.  All of this was in the first few hours of being moved from surgery to the Cardiovascular Intensive Care Unit (CVICU).

The next little bit of time would not get any better.  I found a new level of pain as the different medicines wore off following surgery.  This is a pain scale that replaces the old 0-10 scale that a doctor would use to ask you to rate your pain.  There is not a cap on this newfound scale, like with the number ten on the old one.  This new pain scale will go as high as you can handle it, and then some.  I honestly can not explain the intensity of the pain, especially when an unexpected cough or sneeze would blindside me.  This pain made it impossible to be comfortable.  It was difficult to sleep, to sit up, or to have a conversation.  Breathing hurt, swallowing hurt, and most other movements brought pain in ways I never before imagined.  I’ve always had a high tolerance for pain, but this was rough.  Thankfully, this new level of previously unexperienced pain only lasted a few days. 

Even with all the pain, the tricks my mind were playing were even worse.  Sleep would only last a minute or two at a time.  The dreams were so disturbing I would wake up trying to yell.  I did tell my wife about two of the dreams, the least disturbing of them, but I won’t be discussing any of that content here.  It’s a little scary to me that my mind came up with some of the images in those dreams.  And just as bad were the images while awake, when I would close my eyes for a short rest.  The colors and distorted scenes that were waiting for me with each prolonged blink is what I imagine Hell looks like.  I’ve served in two wars and have a few images that are forever etched in the dark, hidden parts of my mind.  Nothing I saw at war, not even my worst memory of war, can compare to the complete void of humanity that my mind was manufacturing for me to see.  I have no idea how my mind could possibly create such chaos that felt so real and imminent.  The dreams while asleep and the images my mind created while awake were bad.  Now add hallucinations to the tricks my mind was playing.  I have memories of and was also told by my wife later that I kept asking who was walking around me, touching me on my arm.  I kept thinking I was seeing someone walking around in my room.  When I would ask, my wife would point out that we were the only ones in the room, there was no one else there.  I don’t remember what their faces looked like, but I promise I saw people in my room that apparently weren’t real.  And I felt these imaginary people touch my arm multiple times.  I have no rational explanation for anything in this paragraph. 

My Worst War Memory

Somewhere around the second day after surgery, we had to address a minor complication called postoperative ileus.  That means my stomach didn’t “wake up” after surgery.  There was no movement down there.  Because of that, the doctor ordered an NG tube (Nasogastric tube).  Up the nose, down to the stomach.  It was used to drain the contents of my stomach.  This complication cost me two extra days in the CVICU.  I don’t remember the tube being put in.  I remember telling the doctor later that if they pulled it out, they better be sure of it because I would fight anyone that tried to put it back in.  I guess I remembered it being put in at the time, while in the hospital, but I have no memory of it now.  But I remember how miserable I was.  I still had chest tubes from surgery.  I had oxygen going in my nostrils.  I had more IV’s than I could count.  And the icing on the cake of misery was having that tube in my nose.  I was truly hating life for a brief moment.

I think the first 36 hours after surgery were the most miserable, most scared I’ve been in my life.  In my research leading up to having open heart surgery, the thing that worried me the most were the stories of recovery, not the actual surgery.  Recovery is a long process.  There are countless do’s and don’ts.  Restrictions on lifting, restrictions on movements.  Restrictions on food and medicines.  I never imagined that the initial recovery would include the mind tricks I suffered through.  Thank God that went away after a few days.  The memories of those twisted thoughts and images still choke me up, but at least they stopped.  Boredom is the hardest part now.  Days seem to drag on.  I want to do things, but I know I can’t if I want my recovery to go smoothly.  My wife has been amazing.  She’s doing all my chores and hers.  She’s taking care of me even when I’m difficult and unhappy about being unable to do things for myself.  I’m irritable.  I’m a little depressed.  And I haven’t had a cigarette in over two weeks.  My wife is a saint for putting up with me.  She is my reason for wanting to get better and to do better. 

I feel like the hardest part is behind me.  I’m still confused by the first 36 hours.  I’m actually still a little disturbed by the first 36 hours.  I’m sure it was a combination of shock, pain, and medications.  But that still doesn’t make it any less troubling in my mind.  Thank you for suffering through this post with me today.  I believe most of it to be true even if I don’t remember it all.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

10 Years Alive

We all have and celebrate milestones in our lives and the lives of those around us.  Most commonly we recognize birthdays and wedding anniversaries.  I know as some of us get older, we don’t like to celebrate our birthdays like we used to.  But we all have a birthday, so it’s still a regular milestone.  We celebrate the first day of school for a young kindergartener and the last day of school at graduation, and all the first and last days of each school year in between.  It’s not uncommon to have a celebration at a job for an employee that has been with the company for 10, 20, or more years, and especially at retirement.  I know some people that celebrate sobriety, by the day, week, or the year.  Some celebrate and make a big deal for a pet’s birthday or “gotcha” day.  Military service time, years of home ownership, a sports team’s championships, or anything else that is a big deal to someone.  We like to celebrate and remember things that brought us joy.  All of these things and many more are wonderful reasons to celebrate. 

I have a milestone to share.  I’m celebrating 10 years of not dying.  It sounds weird to say it that way since I’ve successfully not died every single day since I was born more than 54 years ago.  I guess every day above ground is a milestone for each of us to celebrate.  But a decade ago it wasn’t certain that I would maintain that streak.  I could have, and probably should have, died one night.  Some of my memories from that timeframe are clear as a bell in my mind and other parts of it are a foggy haze that doesn’t seem real.  It seems more like a dream that never really happened.  But it did.

On August 2, 2015, I attempted suicide and failed.  I won’t go into all the details here, but I will share a link to the blog I posted in February 2016, where I talked about that night and what was going on.  It’s surreal to look back at it, to re-read that blog post.  I refer to that timeframe in my life as “the lowest point of my life” when speaking about it in conversation.  It was also my darkest time.  And my loneliest, my scariest, and most uncertain time in my life.  I hadn’t expected to survive, so I had no plan, no idea what I was going to do after I came to and had to face my family and friends and myself.  It took almost 6 months to get to the point where I wasn’t pissed off for failing.  And even then, it was a long road to get to where I would be out of danger from my own mind. 

Battlefield

I’ve always been open about my journey when it comes to surviving my suicide attempt.  The reason I do that is because it helps others.  I’m not embarrassed by it.  I was for a short time after it happened, but not anymore.  I’ve shared about going to war and my military experiences that may have contributed to my mindset of wanting to die.  I’ve shared raw, unfiltered emotions on Story of My Life because I feel that it’s important to tell it like it is when it comes to life and death.  And I’ve also shared the part of my journey of recovering from it all.  Honestly, it’s a lifelong recovery and I stay on top of it.

As I look back over the last 10 years, I feel blessed far beyond what I deserve.  To be where I am right now is mind boggling compared to where I was the night law enforcement officers found me unresponsive in 2015.  Early on after my failed attempt, there were times when I took one step forward just to be shoved two or three steps back.  There were times when I couldn’t even take a step forward and would still be pushed back.  The first six months were very discouraging and my dark thoughts would sometimes try to take over.  It was a frustrating time of fighting with myself. 

But in 2016, I had finally found a treatment/counseling plan that worked for me.  It was still a rough time, but it looked like it would finally start going in the right direction.  It was going to be a lot of work, and I was the only one that could do it.  No one else could do it for me.  Sure, there were plenty of people there for me, but the work would be my sole responsibility.  I was the only one that could be accountable for moving forward and getting better.  I experienced both setbacks and accomplishments during that year.  I had a troubling situation at one point that almost put me back into a similar low point that I was still trying to recover from.  And that situation came at a time when everything was seemingly going well.  In retrospect, I think I might have been expecting something bad to happen since things were going well at the time and then I let it blow up worse than it really was.  I wrote a little about this in 2016.  I’ll share the link below if anyone is interested. 

Suicidal Anonymous

2017 was better.  2018 was good.  By 2019, I felt like I had achieved my new normal and I was very satisfied with it.  I would never be the same as before 2015, but I was happy.  Even after I got back to my new normal, which was good, I still initiated counseling sessions once in a while.  As recently as last year I was in counseling 2-3 times a month.  Not because anything bad happened or I was going back to a dark place.  But because I know I need it occasionally to stay on top of my mental health.  And ‘occasionally’ is much better than the nearly every week for a whole year I was going in 2016.  Everything needs maintenance, not just your car or house or tools.  You need maintenance.  And I do, too.

If you need help with thoughts of suicide, please reach out.  There are so many places and organizations that will help you find the right help.  There are also individuals that can help you; family, friends, coworkers.  I know how hard it is to ask for help, I promise you, I know.  It might be the hardest thing you ever do, but do it.  The second hardest thing will be finding the right help.  It took months for me to find the right combination of medication and therapy.  I wanted to give up after the first time “help” failed.  The truth is, mental health help is not one size fits all.  There are different styles of counseling, different medications, different specializations for doctors and therapists.  Sometimes it takes a while to get it all correct for each individual.   I think that’s a reason so many people don’t continue with it when they truly need it.  Please be patient.  Keep going back and eventually, you will find what fits you.

You might find yourself in a position to help someone dealing with suicidal thoughts, either because they asked you for help or you noticed something off and asked them if you could help.  Here’s some important things to know, especially if you have never had any training on the subject.  First, you can NOT solve their problems.  But you can be there for them to vent, cry, share their story.  And, most importantly, you can help them in the right direction to get professional help.  Second, no matter what the reason is for someone feeling like they want to kill themselves, that IS a valid reason because it’s their reason.  It might not even make sense to you.  But if someone tells you they are sad because their goldfish died and now they want to die too, that is THEIR valid reason and it needs to be treated as such.  The truth is, by the time most people get to that point, their “reason” was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back.  There were likely many things leading up to the total distress they feel about a goldfish.  Your job is simply to get them to a professional that can work through all that with them.  All you have to do is get them to the next level of help, and by doing so, you are helping them the greatest.  Look at this way.  If I have a heart attack, my wife isn’t going to call a heart surgeon to make an appointment for me.  She would call 9-1-1 to come and take me to the emergency room where they are fully equipped to deal with a heart attack while it is happening.  Then, if needed, I would be referred to a heart surgeon.  You can’t fix, cure, or solve their problems.  Just get them to a higher level of help.  Be the 9-1-1 if you’re called upon.  Don’t shy away from someone who is suicidal because you don’t know what to do.  I just told you what to do.  Do it. 

Probably around half of my 130 posts on Story of My Life talk about or reference my journey after my failed suicide attempt in one way or another.  Even ten years after the event, it’s still hard to write about, but it needs to be done.  Preparing this post, which included going through a bunch of older posts, brought its share of tears to my eyes.  It’s hard to relive that part of my life.  I am now completely drained emotionally.  But I feel like this story needs to be told.  It’s part of my ongoing, life-long road of bettering my mental health and helping others.  And it’s my 10-year milestone of not dying.  I never dreamed I would be where I am now ten years ago.

I hope you found something helpful here today.  If you need help, reach out.  If you can help, do so.  Thank you for visiting Story of My Life.  Good day, God bless.

Dave

The Condo

In a recent blog post I mentioned that in 2018 my mind began to clear from a three-year fog.  Life was beginning to come back in to focus.  I started to feel a little normal again.  Well, at least what was to be a new normal for me at that time.  I was beginning to accept that the new me was as good as it was going to get, compared to what and who I was before.  And coming to grips with that was a huge turning point for me in my journey of recovery.  There’s no exact date I can reference in 2018 where I felt like I was righting the ship, but instead it was a process.  A few steps forward, a couple steps back, and so forth.  But I was making progress.  It was a busy year, both good for a lot of reasons, and bittersweet for other reasons. 

Leading up to 2018, there was a significant event in 2017 that helped me along.  But first, let me backtrack a little further.  In late 2016 I went to stay with my sister and her husband for a couple months in Louisiana.  But I couldn’t stay that far away from my kids who were in Florida.  So, in early 2017, I stayed with my mom in Alabama for a few months and commuted an hour and a half each way to work in Florida.  An hour and a half on a good day.  Sometimes the trip would take two hours each way.  It was tiring, but I was on the right track.

I called about a little condo that was for rent that was close to both work and my kids.  I found out they were planning to pull the listing for the rental and sell the unit.  But they offered to show it to me and if I wanted it, they would rent it to me.  I went to look at the condo and loved it.  I told them to give a few days and that I would let them know.  I was basically broke.  I was working again for the first time in a year but had nothing other than whatever was on the next paycheck.  I wasn’t sure I could pull it off, but I had to try. 

When I called to let them know I wanted the condo, the lady said, “Great!” and told me to meet her after work with the deposit and she would bring the lease and the keys.  She went on to say that it was perfect timing because they were going out of town the next day for the rest of the month.  Uh-oh.  My checkbook was in Alabama where I was living and I was at work, in Florida.  To my surprise, she said that was not a problem.  She told me to come get the keys, sign the lease, and I could mail the deposit and the first month’s rent.  And they let me move in mid-month without charging for those two weeks.  This was already going better than I imagined it could.

The first time I looked at the condo, I asked how much of the stuff in the condo was staying.  There were beds, a dining room table, plates, cups, cookware, wall art, towels, linens, and much more.  No couch, chairs, or any other place for sitting.  But it had almost everything else.  She assured me that it would all be gone if I decided I wanted the place.  I explained that I was going through a divorce and only had a couple things to my name.  She said they would leave anything I needed.  No extra charge.  Even better.

When I showed up to sign the lease, the lady had brought back clean linens and towels that had been in the condo from when I first looked at it.  That’s the kind of people I was dealing with.  Awesome, terrific, people.  This was amazing.  I couldn’t believe how much they were going out of their way for me; how generous I felt they were being.  They didn’t know me.  They had no idea what I was going through and that in reality, I didn’t know myself if I was going to be able to maintain a job and pay my bills.  Why would they do all this?  Half month rent free.  Trusting that I would actually send the deposit and rent checks within a couple weeks.  Mostly furnished without charging extra.  Washing the linens and towels for me.  God was blessing me in a big way and using these awesome people to do it. 

And that little condo was awesome.  It was perfect for me.  Surprisingly inexpensive and it was on the bay.  My unit faced the pool, but I could walk around the other buildings to cast a fishing line, watch the sunset, or just relax by the water.  As great as it was, I was still financially unstable.  Shortly after moving in, I emptied my change jar so I could buy new underwear and some skid-resistant shoes for my job.  I went to one of those coin machines and dumped in the coins.  And to avoid the 4% fee of using the machine I opted for an Amazon eCard thing, which made the coin-changing process free.  I hate ordering shoes online, but at that time, I had to save every penny I could.  And a few months later, I saved enough to buy a used couch and a chair at a thrift store.  One of my kids still has that chair, eight years after I bought it used.

The place was shaping up nicely.  And even if most of the furnishings belonged to the landlords, it felt like home.  It felt like my place.  I was comfortable there.  It was a good place to be while continuing my mental recovery.  It was less than 10 minutes to work and just 3 miles to my kids.  They could come hang out on the weekends and enjoy the pool, play games, watch TV, play tennis, or sit by the bay.  I was still mostly broke, both emotionally and financially, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.  I was struggling, but I had become determined to overcome it all.

At the end of the first year, I texted my landlord and ask if I needed to do a new lease.  The one I signed was for 1 year and that was coming up fast.  I would certainly understand an increase in rent.  I was already paying far less than anywhere else outside of renting a mobile home somewhere, and even many of those listed for more than I was paying.  And I knew they had talked about selling before I took the place.  Maybe they wanted to move forward with that.  The response I got floored me.  She asked if I wanted to pay more for rent.  Of course, I said no.  She said, “Well, let’s just do month to month with the current price until you decide to leave.”  That was the kind of wonderful people I was dealing with. 

Three and a half years I lived in that little two-bedroom, one bath condo on the bay.  For three and a half years I continued to recover, continued to write, continued to work, continued to be close to my kids.  It was a good time in my life in a lot of ways.  And without the landlords taking a chance on me and letting me move in, I don’t know if that three and a half year period would have been as helpful.  I’m not sure I would be where I am today without them.  I feel like their generosity and grace gave me a solid foothold on life that I desperately needed at that exact time. 

There is a long list of people who helped me when I was down and out back then.  And the grand majority of those people are people I am related to, or served in the military with, or have known on a personal level prior to being at an all-time low point in my life.  But my landlords helped me as a stranger, a risk, a man who was trying to keep from drowning in the tidal waves he had made for himself.  I told them when I moved out how much I appreciated them, but I don’t think they have any idea to what extent they truly helped me.  I seriously doubt I would be where I am now without their help.  I don’t know if my life would have had the opportunity to be as good as it is now without them unknowingly helping me get here.

Sometimes we do things for people and don’t think it’s a very big deal.  And it may never cross our minds again.  But to that person it might mean the world.  It might be life changing.  You never know.  Do good when you can.  Show grace when you can.  The smallest or easiest gesture can make a huge difference to someone else.  Debbie and Johnny’s kindness changed the course of my life for the better.  And I am forever grateful to them.

Thanks for stopping by today.  Don’t give up on yourself.  Something good is coming.  Good day and God bless.

Dave

The view.

The chair.

Milestones and Reflections

This past week, my blog surpassed 400 followers from all over the world. Granted, that’s not a huge number, but it’s still an amazing milestone to me, considering I write for my own pleasure and therapy. I didn’t set out to create any kind of following for this site, only a place for me to put some thoughts somewhere, like a way to journal. Originally, Story of My Life was a place for me to do some writing during my deployment to Afghanistan and share a few things with my family and friends. After returning from war, I took a two-year break from posting here. I then started using Story of My Life again in February 2016, as an outlet for self-therapy and recovery. Based on the number of followers, comments and likes on the posts, it seems like a lot of people can relate to what I’m putting out there.

As I celebrate a very modest milestone, I also want reflect on Story of My Life and share with some of you that might not know the progression this blog has taken the last couple of years and why I post (almost) every week. I say progression of this blog, but in reality, it’s my progression. These are my thoughts, feelings, experiences that I share here. Some entries are comical or silly. Some are dark and painful. Some are rants, usually complaining about dealing with the VA. I’ve posted poetry and short fiction stories, but mostly, real-life stories of me surviving my life.

While my first blog post to Story of My Life was 5 years ago, it’s only been in the last two years that I started a new journey of using weekly writing as therapy and sharing my story with the world. The beginning of this new journey started with me opening up about a failed suicide attempt, being taken to the psych ward at the hospital in hand cuffs by the police, and being diagnosed with PTSD and major depression. From there, I shared what I saw as obvious irony in the fact that I attempted suicide, being that I was the lead trainer in suicide prevention training in most of my army reserve units. Ironic, in a twisted way, I know.

I’ve shared stories from my deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, stories about my kids, and I’ve written some entertaining fictional stories. I’ve touched a little on the end of my marriage and I’ve exposed some of the flaws with the VA that veterans have to deal with. I’ve written about the struggles I have from time to time with depression and suicidal thoughts. I’ve also written about some of the victories I’ve had the last two years, which include sharing a couple excerpts and progress from the novel I’m writing (yes, still working on that). I’ve written about the weather, traffic, youth sports, investing, the Mississippi River, and I’ve shared some about my civilian job in a few posts. I cover most everything that pops into my head in any given week. We can all see the pros and cons in that. But I do it anyway.

I write every week and post it here because it helps me. I am able to sort my thoughts and put them in some kind of order that makes sense to me. It’s a way to track my progress as well as my low points. Each post gives me a record of what I was doing or thinking and I can go back any time and see what was on my mind. I know, I can do the same thing without putting it on a blog, but I feel that making some of these stories public forces me to put more thought and effort into this project. And I know that my story helps other people, too, which is a bonus for my motivation to keep writing and sharing. Knowing there are people out there that can relate to my issues and mental illness is helpful to me as well. I appreciate all the likes and comments of support on my posts each week.

I do this for me. But I also do it for everyone else that hasn’t found their voice yet in speaking up comfortably about their own mental illness. I share it with the world so that someone that might be in the dark places of the mind, like I have been, know they aren’t alone. If you need help, reach out. If you know someone that needs help, help them find help. You don’t have to be a professional to help someone that is thinking about suicide. You only have to get them to someone that is (hospital, police, fire station, National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1.800.273.8255). Helping is easier than you think.

For those of you that might be new to Story of My Life and want to get a bigger picture of my story, below are some links to previous posts that will highlight my journey the last two years.

https://storyofmylife.blog/2016/02/06/battlefield/  (the beginning of my new journey)

Depressed

Suicidal Anonymous

PTSD Moments

My Worst War Memory

Thank you all for your support, I hope that I am returning the favor in some small way here. And thank you for stopping by this week. Good day, God bless.

Dave

My List Is Complete

About twenty years ago I managed a pizza delivery store in Panama City Beach for a couple of friends of mine. During the spring break season, we were open 24 hours a day. It was busy. According to our food distributor, we were the busiest independent pizza store in the country based on how much cheese we ordered each week during that time. MTV was in town covering the festivities of party-goers, Spinnaker and La Vela were packed every night, and the strip was bumper to bumper traffic for miles all day, and continuing late into the night. Needless to say, getting everything done each day was a monumental task.

One of the guys I worked for there was a list-keeper. Everything he needed to do was on a list. It wasn’t always the neatest looking lists, but it worked for him. He kept everything in Steno pads. And he always seemed to have everything crossed off his list at the end of the day, for the most part. I was impressed with his ability to get it all done, but also not happy with myself for never finishing my list and always having to move things to the next day. I was a great manager, but for some reason, I could never cross everything off my list.

I finally asked him one day, “How do you get it all done? You have a page full of stuff, the same as me, but you get a lot more of it done than I do.” His reply changed my life. Well, that’s a little dramatic, but his words certainly have stayed with me for more 20 years. It was so simple. I still use his strategy today. He said, “When I get something done, I add it to my list and check it off.” Mind blown. Eyes opened. Life changed. The philosophy of that simple idea is amazingly deep.

He would start his list with what was important to be accomplished. It might only be a small handful of things. As he would get things done throughout the day, he would add those things to his list. Since those things were already done, as he added him to the list, he would check them off. That’s brilliant. Do you realize how much stuff we actually get done in a day? If you made a list, you would know. And if you knew how much you do get done, maybe you wouldn’t beat yourself up for not completing your to-do list, a list that might be unrealistic to begin with.

As 2017 draws to a close, I look back on the year and I know I did not even come close to getting all the things done that I wanted to this year. If I had made a list at the beginning of the year of all the things I wanted to get done in 2017, that list would still need some work, or the year would need to be extended. But I won’t lament or lose any sleep about not finishing my hypothetical list. I will, however, be happy with what I did accomplish, even if some of it is trivial or perhaps less productive in the big picture of life as I see it. I still got a lot done this year. I survived. And that is a rather huge accomplishment in and of itself in some respects.

I finish this year broke, but none of my bills are behind. Except my student loans, which will likely never get paid. I didn’t get much done this year on the novel I’m writing, but I estimate that I wrote about 30,000 words to my blog in 2017. Neither of those endeavors pay the bills. I really just want to make a living as a writer, but I like the job I have and the people I work with. I’m not where I want to be in life, but I am certainly not where I was a short while ago, which is a good thing. I didn’t finish everything on my list for 2017, but I am pretty happy with what I did get done, including the less important things I added to the list as I went along.

My friends, do not make an overwhelming list for yourself that you cannot finish. Once you start moving things to the next day, it becomes easier and easier to keep doing that. You will never get it done that way. Pick a few things that are important. As you move throughout your day, week, or year, add to your list the other, less important things you get done and check them off. You’ll be surprised by how much you really get done, even when it doesn’t feel like it. Happy New Year to you all. May 2018 be a year of checking off the important things on our lists and realizing how important the things not on the list are that we get done as well.

Thanks for stopping by this year. Hope to see you in 2018. Good day, God bless.

Dave