This is my journal entry from October 7, 2025, part of my daily autobiography Sober Through Separation — my real, unedited days, published in order.
Tomorrow I move out, so today I want to be fully present and enjoy my last full day in this house. After taking the kids to school, I sat in the back seat with my son and read to him while we waited. The book was about space equipment, and I decided to make it fun by reading it in a ridiculous, over-the-top way. I said things like, “This piece of equipment is used to send some shit into space. Then they put that shit up there and let it float. And that shit eventually falls back down to Earth.” He was torn between laughing and being annoyed, half scolding me while trying not to smile. “Don’t you know this shit floats in space?” I love being playful with him—those small, silly moments are the ones that make ordinary mornings feel special.
After dropping them off, I went to a 9:00 a.m. yoga class. The same girl I talked with yesterday was there again, along with her ex. At the end of class, the two of them walked up to each other and hugged. I noticed it, but instead of feeling awkward, I felt calm—centered even. Before leaving, I introduced myself to another girl who had smiled at me from across the room when she came in. It felt natural, confident. I’m genuinely excited to date again.
When I got home, I planned to work on editing I Was Famous on the Internet, but instead the kitchen sink caught my attention. The reverse osmosis faucet had been loose for weeks, and it finally felt like the right day to fix it. I took the old faucet out, opened the new one, and immediately discovered the problem—the new faucet’s connection was too big for the hole in the granite countertop. So I drove to Home Depot, hoping to find a solution. After about thirty minutes of wandering the aisles and talking with a few employees, they recommended that I just buy an entirely new faucet.
The one I had cost about $50, and while I could technically return it, by the time I shipped it back and paid the return fees, I’d be lucky to get $30 back. I decided to just put it under the sink and move on. Some people get really upset about waste, but I don’t see it that way. I try to use what I have wisely, but I also believe this is an infinite universe—nothing is truly wasted. Everything is just changing form. The idea of waste only exists in a mindset of scarcity and limitation.
My ex-wife picked up the kids from school that afternoon, which gave me uninterrupted time to keep working on my manuscript. I made progress going through I Was Famous on the Internet, adding calls to action at the beginning that link to my website. Still, I ended the day feeling frustrated that I couldn’t finish. I’d hoped to get it fully ready for submission to Amazon today, but it looks like that will have to wait until tomorrow.
I went to my 4:00 p.m. AA meeting, and there were six of us guys there—a rare occurrence, since every other meeting so far has either been balanced between men and women or leaned more toward women. The energy was different today. There was a lot more swearing—“fuck this,” “fuck that,” “fucking fucker,” “motherfucker.” It felt raw and real, and honestly, I enjoyed it. When I first got sober, that’s exactly how I talked. I didn’t know how to be honest without dropping a dozen fucks in every paragraph. Then, one day after a meeting, an old-timer pulled me aside and said, “We don’t talk that way anymore.” It made me think—why did I feel like I needed to say “fuck” fifteen times just to be truthful?
For a few years, I tried to minimize my swearing. But eventually, I started swearing again, and now I’ve found a middle ground. Swearing is just another form of communication—neither good nor bad by itself. The key is knowing when it helps and when it doesn’t. If I’m at a meeting with people who have soft ears, I keep it clean. But other times, like today, if you’re not fucking talking about fucking something, nobody’s fucking listening. In that setting, cursing becomes a bridge instead of a barrier.
After the meeting, I came home and washed a shitload of dishes—probably an hour’s worth, like usual. I’m really looking forward to the day I’m not doing this every damn day. Then again, our physical relationship had already faded, which is pretty much why we’re getting divorced.
There was a new guy at the meeting earlier, and after it ended, he told me he thought I was a ladies’ man who’d have no problem dating. He said he didn’t feel like he had any success in him. I told him straight: “If you’d just stay sober, you’d do great. You’re over six feet tall, good-looking, early thirties. There’s no reason you can’t do fantastic with women. But if you keep drinking, you’ll stay a pathetic piece of shit. When you walk up to a woman as a drunk, unless she’s as sick as you, she’s not going to want anything to do with you. Then again, some women are that sick—they want a project, a man to fix. The love of a broken man becomes their drug.”
I encouraged him to stick around for the 5:30 meeting since he’s living on his parents’ couch and doesn’t have anywhere else to go. I said, “What the fuck else are you going to do with your day?” He said he’d probably just wander around, which sounded dangerous—wandering could easily lead him into the liquor store or down the beer aisle at Publix. I figured staying for another meeting was his best move. I also told one of the guys with over twenty years sober who was heading into that next meeting to look out for him. “Maybe talk to this dude,” I said. “He’s pretty desperate and new. Could use some help.”
There was another new guy too—clearly not convinced about sticking with AA. The old-timer with more than thirty years sober and I did our best to sell him on it. We told him straight how fucked he was, and that if he wanted to get unfucked, maybe he should keep coming back.
When I got home later, my ex-wife was irritable while putting the kids to bed. But that’s not my fucking problem anymore. Her emotions are hers to manage. It’s not like she ever takes anything out on the kids—they’re always safe with her, no matter how chaotic things get or how bad she feels. I love her, and I love the kids, and I’m grateful to be on this path of no longer being married to her. I don’t have to carry her moods anymore. Soon enough, I’ll get to deal with some other woman’s moods instead.
Before I went to Home Depot today, my ex-wife showed me the divorce forms we need to fill out. One of them was a child support worksheet, which triggered me about as much as anything can. I know most of those feelings aren’t rational, but still—they’re real. We sat there trying to figure out how to fill it out, and the problem is, right now I’m not making a single dollar, rounded to the nearest thousand. If we put that down honestly, the worksheet says my ex-wife would owe me child support, which seems completely absurd. I told her flat-out that I’d rather pay her with the money I don’t have than accept her paying me. It just feels wrong.
My ex-wife called one of her friends, an attorney who’s worked in family court, and her friend said that if a soon-to-be ex-husband has a comparable earning potential to his wife—which I certainly hope I do—then we should just list it that way on the worksheet and financial affidavit. That way, neither of us owes child support. I’m incredibly grateful that my ex-wife’s taking the lead on all of this. She said we’ve already saved thousands of dollars by not hiring lawyers and just handling it ourselves. I told her thank you, and that I’d do whatever she wanted—if she wants child support, fine, I’ll put a higher income than hers. She can even have the house for a dollar. I honestly don’t care.
I remember saying years ago that if I ever got divorced from my ex-wife, I’d just let her do whatever she wanted. A family member once told me, “Well, of course you can do that with my ex-wife because she’s fair.” I sometimes wonder if she’s fair because I’m fair—or if I were toxic, would she match that energy back? I have no desire to find out. More than anything, I want to have a kind divorce.
While I was still at Home Depot, my ex-wife called to say she’d figured everything out, which eased my aggravation a bit. I picked up a couple of carbon-infused air filters to help clear out the smoke smell from my new house. Between that, the vinegar, and the essential oil diffuser, the air’s already improving. Later tonight, before bed, I moved a few more things down there. It felt satisfying—like progress.
I’m honestly excited about this new chapter. I keep thinking about all the sex I’m going to have in that house—with different women, even if it’s just one. I caught myself feeling a little bad for calling my ex-wife irritable earlier, but that’s just what I observed. We all have our moments, and I certainly have mine. The thing I admire about my ex-wife is that when she does get irritable, she works through it quickly and moves on.
After she finished lying in bed with the kids as they fell asleep, she came out, and we agreed we’d talked enough for one day—but, as usual, we talked a bit more anyway. I asked her about dating—specifically if she thought I should buy some better clothes. She encouraged me to invest in a few new things. I started browsing online and spent about an hour looking at tennis polos and athletic shorts. The polos looked great, but I need to see how they fit before buying any. It felt like a bit of a waste of time, but it also got me excited to freshen up my look. I decided I can start my dating profiles wearing the simple white T-shirts and $10 gym shorts I already have, and upgrade the photos later when I have better outfits.
My mom also gave me a kitchen table and a chair that’s literally held together by a screw after breaking once before, but it’ll work for now. Around 11:00 p.m., I carried them down the street to my new place and got back home at exactly 11:11—which felt like a small, perfect sign.
Tonight is my last night sleeping in this house as my home. Ever since my ex-wife and I decided to divorce, I’ve started to feel like this place belongs to her and I’m just a guest here. Still, I want to enjoy this last night—this quiet moment of transition between the life I’ve known and the one that’s just beginning.
If you connect with how I live and think, you can follow the rest of my days on YouTube in my Life playlist.