Saturday, January 25, 2025

Monday, February 3, 2025

Good morning, everybody! It’s the last weekend in January, and I’m already daydreaming about warmer weather. Hopefully, I didn’t just jinx us—I really don’t need a blizzard to round out the month.

Mornings are my time to sit by the fire with a soft blanket over my legs, play a little backgammon, and sip on hot coffee while I wait for my brain to reboot. It’s my quiet time, or as I like to think of it, my don’t-talk-to-me-until-I’m-humanphase.

Anyway, this morning, I’ve got my bare feet propped up on the hearth, enjoying the warmth on my bare feet, when I glance at my toes. Big mistake. I shudder—when was the last time I trimmed these things? They look like they belong on the abominable snowman. The real question isn’t whether they need trimming (they do); it’s whether I can actually handle the job. So I think to myself: What’s my current pinch strength compared to before the ALS diagnosis? Naturally, I head to the internet—because where else do you go for answers to existential questions about toenail trimming? I learn the average pinch pressure is 5–10 pounds of force. Okay…but how do I measure my current capability? Then, because my brain loves to wander, I think, Hey, Alex could invent something to measure pinch pressure for me! But let’s be real—I should probably just buy some adaptive clippers or, better yet, outsource this entire situation to someone who isn’t totally grossed out by toenails. Nikki’s out…I’m sure this discussion is already making her gag.

On a different note, I try to weigh myself regularly to make sure my weight’s holding steady. Back in October, I was about 175 lbs, and that seemed to be my sweet spot for a while. But in the past couple of weeks, the scale’s been whispering bad news. Yesterday, my weight fell to 169.5 lbs. What gives? I’m eating like it’s my full-time job, thanks to the nutritionist’s advice of eat everything and anything. We went out last night with Barb and Mark to Georgio’s for pizza and beer. (Well, I had beer. The ladies were fancy with their wine.)

Despite my calorie dedication, my body has other plans. I barely exercise these days—averaging about 1,500 steps daily—so it’s not like I’m burning it off with cardio. The problem is clear: my midsection is, let’s say, robust, but my legs and arms have practically vanished. Six months of muscle atrophy will do that to you. It’s a cruel irony—I can’t gain where I need it and can’t lose where I don’t.

This morning, I’m fighting back with a ginormous cinnamon bun. Sure, it’s not a magical weight-restoring cure, but it’s delicious, and sometimes that’s what matters. See photo.

At 8:00 a.m., the chaos begins—the bathroom demo is happening today. It’s going to be a chorus of hammers, ⚒️ saws, 🪚and general destruction . Thankfully, Bear is off at Little Paws for a playdate, sparing him the madness. Cindy and I, however, don’t have the same luxury. How we’ll survive remains a mystery. I’ll report back tomorrow if we make it through

Have a great Saturday.

Love you guys!❤️