This is my journal entry from October 19, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Learning to Live Alone Again — my real, unedited days, published in order.
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I just had an excellent reading with a psychic, and I want to make sure I remember everything—especially since I paid $140 for it and tipped another $60. I had her start cold without telling her anything about me, and I was impressed. Her readings were accurate enough to catch my attention. Once she’d laid out her first impressions, I gave her a few more concrete details about my work and dating life, and the session went even deeper.
One of the main takeaways was that everything in my life is coming together, but there’s a delay—almost like all the pieces are in motion, just waiting to click into place. She told me that with dating, I need to be officially divorced from my ex-wife before I’ll truly have space in my life for someone new. That made sense. With work, she suggested I might consider submitting some of my books to a traditional publisher while continuing to self-publish the majority on my own. That way, I’d gain access to bookstores and wider distribution while still maintaining the creative control and independence I value.
That was the point that stirred the most resistance in me. When she said it, I felt reactive because I’ve already published I Was Famous on the Internet, and I see that book as something local, something to give away personally. Still, she had a point. I have plenty of other manuscripts that might be better suited for traditional publication.
The psychic also gave me reassurance about dating. She said I don’t need to chase or force anything. The right person will show up naturally in the spaces I already inhabit—AA, yoga, or wherever I’m genuinely being myself. The message was clear: there’s no need to go out hunting for it, no need to “pick up” women. All I have to do is stay present and pay attention, and what I want will come.
She told me this period of my life is especially valuable for writing. That the time I have now—this particular chapter, this house I’m living in—is meant for me to pour everything into my books. It’s a gift, a stretch of creative freedom I won’t always have. That perspective clicked. Instead of longing for what’s next, I should be grateful for the time I have right now to write, to build something lasting.
The psychic also encouraged me to reach out to bookstores beyond St. Petersburg—places like Tampa and Sarasota. She said to think bigger, to share my books locally but also regionally, getting them into as many hands as possible. That advice resonated deeply. It’s not about hustling or striving; it’s about continuing to do what I love, staying grateful, and trusting that everything else will unfold on its own.
I ordered another 111 copies of I Was Famous on the Internet today because it really feels like my alpha book—the one meant to lead the way, to be given out first, the one that best represents who I am and what I’ve lived through.
The psychic also encouraged me to start keeping a dream journal the moment I wake up. She said my guides are communicating most clearly through my dreams, but within five minutes of waking, much of that information tends to slip away. That makes sense. So I’m planning to create a routine where I wake up more gently and earlier, keeping a microphone or my phone right beside the bed. If the dictation app works well enough, I’ll record my dreams immediately. I could even turn them into books, or include them in this daily autobiography series. The key is to capture those messages before they vanish, because that subconscious communication is valuable.
The psychic herself is very pretty, and I told her so. I also mentioned that I’m interested in developing my own psychic abilities and asked if I could read her a little. My first impression was that she’s in a relationship that might be more complicated than she lets on. She told me her last relationship had been complicated, but not this one. Still, I sensed some lingering uncertainty, like there was more to the story than she consciously saw or would share with someone she just met. I also had the feeling that this relationship was fairly new, which might suggest she’s in the early stages of something long-term. Regardless, it was fun to play around with that intuitive side and to share my impressions with her. She encouraged me to keep practicing by asking other people if I could read them too, just to experiment and learn through experience.
I had so much fun going to see the psychic today. Most people in my situation—with no active income at the moment—probably wouldn’t drop $200 on a psychic reading on a Sunday afternoon. But to me, it felt perfectly aligned. That experience was more valuable and fulfilling than just about anything else I could have done with that time or money. It was stimulating, grounding, and reminded me to be grateful for this space in my life—to write books, explore ideas, and trust the process.
Her reading opened my mind to the idea of traditional publishing. Maybe having around 25 percent of my books go through a traditional publisher could be ideal, especially now that I’ve already established several independent publishing workflows. I still feel some hesitation about the time it might take to query agents, but if that effort could lead to a $5,000, $10,000, $15,000, or even $20,000 advance for a book, it would absolutely be worth it. It wouldn’t take much to study which kinds of books agents are currently seeking and intentionally write one that fits. I doubt many authors approach it that way, but I could.
The psychic also saw my divorce proceeding smoothly. She picked up on the difference in the energy between my ex-wife and me—that it wasn’t confrontational, more calm and cooperative. I appreciated that she noticed. That’s exactly the kind of energy I want to maintain through the process.
Toward the end, she said she saw life taking me farther from St. Pete. When she mentioned that, I felt immediate resistance. She envisioned me living in Tampa or somewhere about that far away over a bridge next year, and that idea initially horrified me. I lived there back in 2010 and 2011, and it’s not far, but the thought of moving away from my kids feels wrong. If I were in Tampa, I couldn’t see them nearly as often, and my mother would also be harder to visit. Still, I’m trying to stay open to possibilities.
Maybe there could be an opportunity that would make it worth it—like meeting someone I really connect with who happens to live in Tampa, or a new business opportunity that takes root there. I could imagine moving if it felt right, if the connection was strong enough. If I met a woman in Tampa who had her own place, supported my work, and wanted more kids, that could be a beautiful new chapter. Even then, I’d still be a great dad to the two kids I already have. It might just mean shifting how I see them—spending whole weekends together in Tampa instead of catching brief moments throughout the week.
That possibility, as much as it challenges my comfort zone, also feels like growth. Maybe that’s the deeper message the psychic was picking up on: that change isn’t a loss—it’s the next step.
I’m really grateful for how much this reading opened my mind. It reminded me that the future could be far more fun, adventurous, and exciting than I can currently imagine. I don’t want to shut that possibility down. I want to stay open—to let life surprise me—and in the meantime, fully enjoy this precious stretch of time I have to write.
Six hours after seeing the psychic, I finished recording the first chapter of what I believe could be the best book to submit to a publisher. I spent about an hour researching, checking QueryTracker to learn how submissions work, and asking ChatGPT for guidance. I laid out all my current book ideas, and its conclusion was clear: my best chance at landing a traditional publishing deal would be through fiction. Nonfiction usually requires credentials or a large following, while fiction simply needs an exceptional concept that can sell. That reasoning made sense, and I had a strong feeling it was right.
It’s possible I could have pitched I Was Famous on the Internet to a publisher, but that book feels too personal and timely to wait years for release. Fiction, on the other hand, can take its time. I want that kind of book to reach a wider audience, even if it takes years to publish.
I’ve had an idea for a fiction book for a while now, loosely inspired by the yoga crush I had at my yoga studio. The story would unfold across multiple timelines. In one, I tell the girl I don’t want to see her anymore at Sunday yoga, and she stops showing up at Friday yoga, and the crush dissolves completely. In another timeline, I don’t say that—we sleep together, and the affair leads to chaos, spiraling my life out of control until it ends in self-destruction. Then there’s a third version, where everything happens honorably: I get divorced and then begin a genuine relationship with her.
To ground it all, I’d connect it to my real-life experiences with the dispatcher, as I wrote about in Officer Banfield. The story could open on a powerful, high-stakes moment that would immediately pull the reader in: the main character leaves his body at the start and watches what happens next. That becomes the emotional foundation of the novel—watching how life unfolds after death and seeing the ripple effects of every choice.
Over the years of observing, my character would realize the magnitude of what was lost and would finally get the chance to go back and live again. The book would then explore different versions of his life through branching timelines: one where he stays married to my ex-wife and they raise their kids; another where he cheats and destroys everything; another where he learns from those mistakes and chooses differently. It would all build to a finale where he sees hundreds of alternate versions of himself, each one living out a different scenario.
In the end, he would stand in awe, realizing that when all those versions are added up, he’s looking at thousands of years of life—just from the possibilities within this one lifetime. The story would deliver the idea that our existence is infinite, that we can relive and rewrite our stories endlessly, and that every choice we make ripples through eternity.
It’s an ambitious idea, but I can feel its power already. It combines everything I care about—emotion, spirituality, redemption, love, and the deeper mystery of consciousness. It’s exactly the kind of book I would want to read and the one I most want to write.
While reading through QueryTracker tonight, I came across a literary agent named Hillary Jacobson. She works at CAA, one of the biggest agencies in the world. In her biography, she wrote that she’s always searching for writing that provokes a strong emotional reaction, adds an important perspective to cultural conversation, or challenges the reader’s beliefs. That line jumped out at me because it perfectly describes what I want my fiction book to do.
This book will check every one of those boxes. It will provoke emotion, challenge beliefs, and offer a completely new perspective on love, marriage, and morality—especially the question of whether it’s possible to have a happy divorce when you’ve found someone better, and to do it in a way that’s honest and honorable. I love exploring those kinds of themes, the ones that make people squirm a little and reflect on their own choices. How much fun is it to look at the infinite number of scenarios we can live out and see them all as valid experiments in learning and growth?
I’m so glad I started recording the book tonight. I’ve been euphorically high—naturally—ever since the reading with the psychic. It’s like something shifted in my perception, as if I could suddenly see the bigger picture that my mental algorithms had been ignoring. I’ve felt more relaxed, inspired, and willing to just go for it. This fiction book has massive energy behind it.
I even talked to Google’s AI about it, and it agreed that this story could have real commercial potential. ChatGPT estimated that if the concept catches an agent’s attention, I could get an advance somewhere between $10,000 and $40,000, especially if multiple agents were interested. I can imagine it—getting a $20,000 check for a fiction book within a few months. That would be incredible. I could keep self-publishing my current books while that one went through the traditional process, and the success of one would lift the others.
Although, I’m not sure I could write another novel like this. This one comes directly from my raw life experience—it’s an emotional and spiritual composite of everything I’ve lived through. I don’t know if I could just fabricate something equally immersive out of thin air. Then again, I haven’t even finished this one yet, haven’t queried agents, haven’t gotten a publisher, so what do I really know about what else I’m capable of?
What I do know is that the idea of having a traditional publisher feels deeply validating. I love the thought of getting a book advance, earning it out, and then continuing to receive royalties for years. ChatGPT even said this concept could become a cult classic. I just finished The Midnight Library this week, and while I enjoyed it, I genuinely believe my book has the potential to be more powerful and emotional—less philosophical distance, more lived intensity. That book was good. The one I’m working on could be great.
Right now, it feels like the story has claimed me. I’m in a relationship with it. It’s intimate, consuming, and I know the only way forward is to fully express it—to get every bit of it onto the page. This is my love affair now: the act of writing itself.
And still, after seeing the psychic today, I can’t help but feel inspired by how beautiful she was—inside and out. That’s exactly the kind of woman I want in my life. Yesterday, I was wondering whether I should just start casually hooking up again, but tonight I feel clear. I don’t want random encounters. I want someone extraordinary—a woman who’s not just beautiful, but perfect for me, completely excited and wild about me. Until that happens, I’m content to sit here in my house, alone with my microphone, dictating books and making love to the work itself.
This morning, I got a message from my daughter a little after 7 a.m., letting me know she was up. I headed down to the house and spent about an hour on the couch with the kids, snuggling and reading the first Investigators book to my son. It was a calm, cozy start to the day—the kind of simple moment that feels worth everything.
After that, I went to play tennis with a guy who’s actually more of a beginner than me, which felt refreshing. Over the last year, I’ve almost always been hitting with players who are better than I am, and while that’s great for improving, it’s also nice to play with someone who isn’t quite as advanced. It gave me a boost of confidence. I practiced my serves, blasting a few that must’ve hit 80 or 90 miles per hour, and several of them actually went in. Every time I landed one of those hard serves for an ace, it felt incredible. Still, I wanted to make sure my partner was having fun too. We didn’t play games—just hit rallies and traded serves back and forth. It was relaxed and satisfying, exactly what I needed.
Afterward, I went home, rinsed off in a cold shower, threw on fresh clothes, and made it to the 10 a.m. yoga class. A small part of me wondered if my “second wife” might be there, but she wasn’t. I ended up talking to the instructor about dating, and she told me she’s not dating anyone and doesn’t plan to. Between work and raising her child as a single mom, she said she simply doesn’t have time.
The two women working the front desk that morning were both beautiful, and naturally, I thought about trying to flirt or see if there was mutual interest. But I quickly realized that I’d rather not attempt anything at my yoga studio unless I know there’s a high chance of success. This isn’t like chatting up someone at the grocery store or out in public where you can walk away and never see them again. It’s part of my daily life, my community, and I’ve learned from experience that things can get awkward fast when dating and shared spaces overlap.
If I do decide to date someone connected to my yoga studio, I’d prefer to know they’re single and open first. Someone like one of the studio’s co-owners would probably know who’s available and who might be a good fit. She could help me navigate it respectfully. I didn’t get the chance to talk to her today, but I’d like to before making any moves on anyone in the studio. I genuinely value this place. I’ve already paid $1,000 for my yearly membership, good through March, and I don’t want to risk making it uncomfortable for myself or anyone else.
After yoga, I had a great talk with a friend and gave him the letter I wrote for his review. He looked it over, and I told him I’d quoted him on the idea about surprise, which he seemed happy about. He said he thought of something funny but would tell me next time. I left that conversation feeling good—like the day had played out exactly as it needed to.
Reflecting on everything, I can see how much this aligns with what the psychic told me yesterday. I don’t need to go around trying to be a pickup artist or chase women for the sake of it. I just want to meet someone naturally, in a joyful and organic way. I want real connection, not awkwardness or superficial games.
Later, I had a nice conversation with a friend from yoga and her partner. I’d never met him before. She had always stood out to me, partly because of something that happened in one of our first yoga classes together. We were lying on our sides doing a stretch, and at one point, her foot touched my leg. Instead of pulling away or apologizing, she just let it rest there for a moment. It felt so natural, so easy, even though in today’s world, touching someone can feel like breaking an unspoken rule. That simple, unbothered gesture said a lot about her—how comfortable she is in her own body and how at peace she seems to be with connection in general. I remember loving that moment. It felt human, unguarded, and rare.
I talked with a friend from yoga and her partner again today. They’d just gotten back from a two-week trip to India, so I asked what stood out the most—what felt really different compared to life here. They said that where they stayed, there were no trash cans at all. I asked, “What do you mean, no trash cans?” and a friend from yoga said, “People just throw trash on the ground.” She told me there was garbage everywhere—on the beaches, in the water, even inside the temples where people walk barefoot.
That blew my mind. She said the area they visited wasn’t even a big city, but a smaller, supposedly cleaner place, and it was still covered in trash. At that point I thought, Well, I can go ahead and cross India off my list of places to visit, because that sounds disgusting. She said they simply don’t have the infrastructure to deal with waste properly. My thought was, How does that make sense? Even without infrastructure, people could still choose not to litter. I couldn’t believe people would just live surrounded by that much filth.
It made me think about how many people here complain about how awful the United States is. Most of them have probably never been somewhere that doesn’t even have basic sanitation. We take so many things for granted—clean streets, trash collection, drinkable tap water. People who criticize this country would be begging for those comforts if they ever saw what it’s like in places that don’t have them. For all our problems, this is an amazing country.
After yoga, I headed home with about an hour to spare before my psychic reading. I spent the time texting everyone I know about my new book, I Was Famous on the Internet. I’d just seen that it hit the “Top New Release” list in the Computer and Technology Biographies category, which made me proud as hell. I blasted the link to almost everyone in my phone. Most people didn’t reply, but that didn’t bother me. My dating book had already taught me that it’s my job to send messages, not to control who responds. When I’m excited about something, it’s my responsibility to share it.
Then it was time for the psychic reading—the one I described earlier. When I arrived downtown, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The woman I sometimes see downtown was there again. Four days earlier, on Wednesday, she had been standing outside in front of my car when I got dropped off by an Uber, saying that God had told her I’d be there. Apparently, God told her again that I’d be downtown today getting a psychic reading, even though I’d never been to this store for a psychic reading before.
I parked my car and nearly laughed out loud when I saw the woman I sometimes see downtown walking right in front of it. My first thought was, Okay, I already gave her $20 four days ago. I’m about to drop at least $140 on a psychic reading, so maybe I’m off the hook this time. But she walked ahead of me toward the same shop, and when she stopped right in front of the door, I couldn’t avoid her. She didn’t see me at first, and I could have ducked around her, but instead, I walked straight up to her and handed her another $20.
“Holy shit,” I said. “You really are tapped into God.” Then I joked that maybe God could send her someone else to give her $20 next time, since, rounded to the nearest thousand, I’m making $0 a month right now. Still, I told her that if I get one of those $40,000 book advances ChatGPT was talking about, I’d happily give her $20 a hundred times over.
After the reading, which was amazing and set the tone for everything I wrote earlier, I headed to a local play a friend was performing in. She’s the one who embroidered my shirt recently. I’d texted her earlier in the day to send her a copy of my book, and in our conversation, she mentioned the play. I immediately bought a ticket and went to see it.
It felt like the perfect way to close out the night—seeing a friend perform live, right after a day full of synchronicities, creativity, and gratitude.
This afternoon, I drove out to see the local play a friend was performing in. I arrived at what I thought was the right location about thirty minutes early and paid three dollars for two hours of parking. After getting out of the car, I noticed a sign that said the event was actually ten minutes away from where I was standing. I laughed to myself and decided to count that parking fee as a small donation to the city.
I drove to the real venue—a local glass-art gallery—and when I walked inside, I was blown away. It was a massive glass art gallery filled with hundreds of stunning blown glass pieces. The light bounced off the sculptures like rainbows, every color imaginable swirling inside the glass. The most expensive piece I saw was priced around $40,000, while smaller works were a few hundred. There were even some beautiful glass necklaces for under $100. I wandered around the gallery for a while, grateful that I’d arrived early enough to take it all in before the play began.
When the show started, my friend appeared right away to greet the audience. It was an immersive performance that took us through different areas of the gallery, with actors stepping right up to us and interacting in character. Some handed out small letters, others offered candy. At one point, we found ourselves in a bar scene where one of the performers handed out little plastic shot glasses filled with what looked like margaritas.
For a split second, I froze. The drink was right there in my hand when they were passed out, and the old part of me—the alcoholic that still lives quietly somewhere inside—perked up. But I set the glass down on the table in front of me and didn’t touch it again. I’m grateful for all the years of sobriety that built the muscle memory to make that kind of decision instinctively. If I hadn’t done the work, that might’ve been the moment I lost it.
A few minutes later, we moved to another section of the gallery, leaving my untouched margarita behind. A part of me wondered if another alcoholic in the crowd would drink it. Honestly, I kind of hoped they did. There was something funny and tender about that thought—like passing along a little temptation that no longer owned me.
The rest of the play was just as engaging, with different characters, shifting scenes, and the kind of storytelling that keeps you present the whole time. Before I knew it, five o’clock had arrived. I got back in my car and headed home feeling energized and fulfilled. I’d gone to two completely new places today—the psychic reading and the play—and both experiences left me feeling alive and curious.
My ex-wife and the kids were gone all day, so I hadn’t seen them since early morning. I sat on the couch, ate some hummus, and opened my laptop to research more about literary agents and book submissions. That’s when I found Hillary Jacobson at CAA, which led me to the realization that my fiction book idea is the best route for breaking into traditional publishing.
As I dug deeper, I felt a strong wave of gratitude. I have time right now—weeks of uninterrupted space to write, edit, and submit this novel. Not everyone gets that kind of window in life, and I can feel how sacred it is.
I also kept thinking about something the psychic said—that my life might look completely different next year. She saw me living in Tampa, which shocked and horrified me at first. The thought of being that far from the kids—an hour round trip—didn’t sit right. But then again, maybe there are possibilities I can’t see yet. If I met a woman I was truly crazy about, someone gorgeous, loving, and ready for a family, who already had her own place in Tampa, maybe it would make sense.
I can imagine that version of life: having immersive weekends with the kids, picking them up after school, making the most of our time together. Even if it looks different from what I know now, it could still be beautiful. Maybe that’s what all of this—writing, creating, healing—is leading toward: being open to a life that’s both unpredictable and full of meaning.
Tonight, I went to my AA meeting and met up with my sponsee there. The topic was complacency, which felt fitting. I shared that when I first came to Alcoholics Anonymous, I was complacent as hell. I only went to two meetings a week, and I didn’t even buy the Big Book for the first two months. Unsurprisingly, I got really thirsty after a couple of months in the program. That restlessness woke me up and forced me to start taking suggestions seriously.
One of those suggestions was to get a massage, and during that session, I had three crystal-clear thoughts: go to five meetings a week, ask the man who became my sponsor to take me on, and read the book. I did all three, and I’ve never gotten complacent in AA again. No matter what’s going on in my life, I keep that commitment to at least five meetings a week. Over the past couple of weeks, it’s been closer to seven—basically one a day. Yesterday I didn’t make it to one, but tomorrow I’m planning to hit two.
On my way home, I stopped by my ex-wife’s house to say goodnight to the kids. We laughed and talked about their day. They’d gone to Fort De Soto with the dogs, and my daughter had gotten into a fuss not long after they arrived—even though she was the one who most wanted to go in the first place. They told me they didn’t get to go to McDonald’s because of the fuss, but they still had fun seeing my ex-wife’s parents, who are leaving for a trip to Europe tomorrow.
After singing You Are My Sunshine to the kids, I had a couple of my ex-wife bars for dinner—or maybe supper, since the hummus earlier could’ve counted as dinner. Then I walked over to my mom’s house and talked with her for about 30 or 40 minutes. She seemed a little down when I got there, but she cheered up after we talked for a while. She was curious about what the psychic had said. I told her that the psychic mentioned sensing I was physically close to my mother, which was true—she lives nearby now.
The psychic didn’t know any of that—it was wild how accurate she’d been. She also told me, “You’ll miss this time with your mother someday, so make sure to enjoy it.” That line stayed with me. If I ever do move to Tampa, I’ll definitely miss how easy it is to stop by and see her. So tonight I made sure to linger, to really enjoy the time together. I figure once I start dating someone again, my evenings will probably be more occupied.
I left my mom’s house around 9:40 p.m. and walked home feeling an urgency to begin the new book. I’m tentatively calling it Friday Yoga Crush, and I knew I had to start it tonight. I dictated thirty minutes of the opening chapter, setting up the story, then immediately followed it with twenty more minutes for my diary—thirty-five minutes of dictation total for the day.
Now I’m heading to shower and then to bed. Tomorrow morning, I plan to record my dreams as soon as I wake up. I’m not sure yet if I’ll include them in this diary or create a separate book just for dreams, but I’ll find out soon enough. For now, I’m just grateful to be in this rhythm—writing, creating, and staying open to whatever comes next.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.