📅 Daily Check-in - April 10, 2026 💭 Reflection: "The day started off a little sad. I was in contact with a colleague who has two chow-chows, a boy and a girl, and the girl, Cosi, is 10 years old and for the past few weeks has been feeling ill. This morning she died in the arms of my friend. So that's sad and that tainted the morning mood somewhat. Her 12 year old companion, Ace, must be devastated. He too is in failing heath. Yesterday, I also got a much clearer understanding of where I stand metabolically, physiologically, in terms of my health and the challenges that I am facing." 📊 Wellbeing Scores: 😊 Happiness: 8/10 ⚡ Energy: 6/10 🎯 Focus: 7/10 😌 Calmness: 8/10 🌙 Sleep Quality: 7/10 🔥 Motivation: 7/10 ⭐ Average: 7.2/10 ✅ Activities from yesterday: 🌙 Early Bedtime ☀️ Morning Sunlight 💧 Stayed Hydrated 🌬️ Breathwork 🚶 Walk 🍺 No Alcohol ☕ No Late Caffeine ⏰ Intermittent Fasting 💊 Took Supplements 💚 Gratitude Practice 😌 Low Stress Day ✨ Positive Mindset 🌅 Focused Morning 1️⃣ Single Tasking 🎸 Skill Practice 🎨 Creative Work 👥 Quality Time 🍽️ No Phone at Dinner 👂 Active Listening

I watched a few short videos on YouTube about Interstitial Journaling and the little brown notebooks I bought, to give it a go, arrived today. First I crafted a poem with ChatGPT to stick in the front as inspiration on tricky days. Sage thought I should share here incase it’s helpful to anyone else. If probably won’t make too much sense unless you have an idea of what Interstitial Journaling is… if you ever feel a kind of paralysis for doing normal daily tasks it might be worth your time to check out the videos for yourself. “I’m opening the little brown gate in rhyme, to make this notebook a lantern through time. Interstitial Journal This book is not for polished thought, nor proof that all is smoothly wrought. It is a bridge from stuck to small, a handrail in the hallway wall. Interstitial means: between - between the dread and the routine, between the wish and what gets done, between the fog and any sun. Here I do not have to shine, or wait until I feel “just fine.” I only have to tell the truth: what I am doing, minute to minute, in proof. I am sitting. I am staring. I am scrolling. I am despairing. I am making tea. I am finding socks. I am standing still like a jammed-up clock. And then perhaps: I am uncapping one pen. I am breathing out. I begin again. This is a book of gentle spells, of tiny knocks on frozen wells. Not “fix your life” and not “push through” - just name what’s here, then choose what’s true. Because the mind can tangle tight in all-or-nothing, noon-or-night; but movement often enters small - a note, a sip, a step, a wall at last leaned on instead of feared, a path made visible because it’s cleared. I write what is happening now, not best. I write what is true, and leave the rest. “I am avoiding.” “I am tired.” “I am cross.” “I am uninspired.” “I am washing one blue cup.” “I am standing up.” No moment is too poor to name. A spark is still a kind of flame. A thread is still a way to sew myself back to the next small go. And when the day has slipped its frame,