Personal Log — “Blech. What a day.”

Standing on the Ledge — Rebuilding from the Rubble

Today felt like one of those days where everything technically happens, but nothing lands.

I’m still stuck in that 3–4 a.m. loop, and it’s starting to cost me. When I’m waking up late, the day doesn’t feel like it has a front edge. It’s like I’m always starting halfway through, always trying to catch up, always behind the rhythm I’m supposed to be riding. And that makes it harder to get anything meaningful done—business stuff, life stuff, even the basic “keep myself steady” stuff.

Did I follow my daily routine?

Yes and no.

I got up. I had my coffee. I took my medication. I did the minimum pieces that keep me from sliding backwards. That matters, because that’s the scaffolding. But when it came to the business tasks—making progress, pushing things forward—I fell flat on my face. I tried. I sat down to do it. I aimed at the target. And I missed.

Then the phone call happened.

A former employee called my personal cell asking about severance pay and work-related questions. That annoyed the hell out of me. Not because the question was unfair—but because it hit that boundary line: personal space is shrinking again. Even when the contract is gone, even when the work is “over,” the work still tries to follow you home. The phone becomes the leash. You think you’re off-duty, and then it snaps tight.

Still—work-wise—we did what needed to be done. We looked things up. We tracked down what actually applies.

And from what I’ve been able to determine, the Employment Standards Act has a clause for building services provider changeovers: when a new provider takes over and chooses not to hire the existing workers, the new provider is the one who has to handle termination pay (and severance pay, if applicable), as though they terminated the workers. Based on tenure, that usually breaks down to:

• Under 3 months: no ESA minimum termination pay
• 3 months to 1 year: 1 week
• 1 year to 3 years: 2 weeks

That matters because it means—at least from what I’ve found so far—this isn’t automatically on my shoulders. And I won’t lie: that made me feel a little bit better. Not because I don’t care about those people, but because I’m already carrying enough. There’s a difference between caring and being the default dumping ground for every consequence.

So that was today: a mix of frustration, relief, and that ugly, lingering aftertaste of collapse—where even the things you “solve” still drain you.

I keep circling back to one simple truth: I need a routine again.

Not a perfect routine. Not an Instagram routine. A day-person routine. A rhythm that gets me upright before noon and lets the morning do what mornings are supposed to do—give the day a clean start. I need a whiteboard too. Something physical. Something I can’t “forget” the way I forget notes on my phone. I keep going out and forgetting to buy one, which says a lot on its own. The tool I need is simple, and I still can’t manage to bring it home. That’s where I’m at.

And yeah… I had the thought again:

If I knew then what I know now, I don’t think I would’ve gone down this road.

That sentence isn’t drama. It’s fatigue speaking honestly. It’s hindsight showing me the hidden price tags I didn’t see at the start.

That’s it for today.

No field notes. No polished lesson. Just the log.

Godspeed.