This is my journal entry from July 31, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Author in St. Petersburg — my real, unedited days, published in order.
I overate again tonight. This is something I’ve done thousands of times, and you’d think that by now I would have mastered the simple skill of eating until satisfied and then stopping. Instead, I crossed that line once more. I’m grateful that my whole-food, plant-based diet keeps the consequences mostly limited to an overfilled stomach rather than major weight gain, but even so, I carry at least ten extra pounds from the sheer number of times I’ve eaten past comfort. My intention remains to break the pattern, whatever it takes. Dinner began well enough—hummus, carrots, cucumber—but then I reached for four or five energy balls. I knew I didn’t need them. I knew I would regret it. I ate them anyway. That’s the insanity of it.
Earlier in the day, I took the kids to Adventure Island so my ex-wife could have uninterrupted time to work. We arrived around 9:30 and stayed until about 12:30, hitting the cliff jumps, slides, and Lazy River. The highlight came when I found my car key at Guest Services—the one I lost on a previous trip that had my 11-year AA medallion attached. That was a win. I don’t wear sunscreen; I just take in the sun until I know I’ve had enough. Afterward, we changed in the car to avoid lugging gear inside. I wrapped a towel around what my dad used to call my “Peter” and joked about keeping it covered, which became one of the funniest moments of the day. This time, I also spent $30 on a locker rather than risk losing my key again during the cliff jumps.
After the park, we went to the revolving conveyor belt sushi place in West Shore Plaza. The bill came to $86, but I dropped $120 total, leaving a $34 tip. The kids devoured six or seven plates of wagyu beef, each piece on a small ball of rice, while I had too many sushi rolls and fries, overeating at lunch just as I had at dinner. The tip amount came from the cash I keep on hand—I only carry $20s and $100s to avoid a cluttered wallet. Faced with the choice between leaving $14 or $34, I decided that if I can afford sushi, I can afford to tip generously.
From there, the kids ran around the mall for a couple of hours. I spent another $40 on those rideable animal scooters they love, bought my son a $20 toy car, and picked up some things for my daughter at Claire’s, where she lingered for over an hour. Thankfully, there was a chair outside where I could rest my overheated, overstuffed body while watching my son bounce in and out of Old Navy. We drove home without hitting traffic, which felt like a small but satisfying win.
Lately, I’ve been thinking about writing books for people in my life—handwritten, deeply personal books—because I feel many of them don’t really know me. We spend time together, yet I still sense a gap in understanding. In the past, before endless media and social networks, people spent more time actually talking to each other. You truly knew the people around you. These days, many know more about strangers online than they do about their own family, friends, or coworkers. Some of the people closest to me in proximity know me the least in truth, and I want them to have something real from me—something they can read and understand in my own words. Sitting down face-to-face doesn’t always happen. It can be inconvenient, awkward, or poorly timed. A book removes those barriers.
The idea excites me, yet part of me still resists committing to it. I want to write these personal books, but I can feel myself hesitating, telling myself I’ll do it later. That tension is still there.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.