Kicking Off the Annual Damage Control Log
I swear, every single year, around the time the weather starts sniffing spring but hasn’t quite committed, I turn into a different person. A terrible person. I used to think it was just seasonal affective disorder, but nope. I finally figured out it’s a specific, predictable cycle of self-sabotage. I call it the Pisces month slump, only because the dates always line up, usually late February through mid-March. I don’t know anything about star charts, but man, the emotional tide flips, and suddenly I’m buying some new crypto coin based on a gut feeling or quitting my gym routine because “I deserve a break.”
I decided enough was enough about three years ago. I was sitting on my couch, staring at a half-finished side project, realizing I had pulled the plug on the exact same idea, in the exact same week, the previous year. It was like living in an annual Groundhog Day movie, only I was the one wrecking my own life on schedule. That’s when I finally grabbed a cheap notebook—the one my kid used for drawing stick figures—and started logging.
The Gritty Details of the Tracking System
My first attempt was a total mess. I tried to write down everything. “Woke up. Had coffee. Felt okay.” Useless. It just became a diary of boring stuff. I had to pivot the system to track precursors—the little mental and physical tics before the big, stupid decision. I needed leading indicators, not lagging reports.
I began by focusing strictly on three critical categories, logging them religiously every single evening, no excuses:
- Sleep Quality and Dreams: Did I sleep for 8 hours? Was I waking up at 3 AM with buzzing, nervous energy? If I dreamed vividly about flying or, worse, falling uncontrollably, that was a huge red flag for detachment from reality.
- Irritability Index (1-10): How close was I to yelling at traffic or arguing with the toaster? Anything above a 6 meant I had to lock my credit card away and avoid social media. I specifically tracked petty frustrations—the ones that shouldn’t matter but suddenly feel like the end of the world.
- Sudden Impulses/The ‘Big Idea’: This is the crucial one. Did I feel a sudden, overwhelming, and totally unvetted urge to change everything? Quit my job, move across the country, invest my savings in artisanal toothpicks? These massive, non-vetted ideas always spike during this specific cycle.
What I realized after the first year of tracking was genuinely shocking. The emotional fog wasn’t random; it was consistently tied to physical and minor cognitive changes. For example, I tracked that the week I consistently started forgetting where I parked my car, I also initiated three arguments with my landlord over things that weren’t his fault. It’s like my organizational brain goes fuzzy just before my emotional brain goes nuclear. That’s the warning sign.
The Current Readout: Warning Signs are Flashing Red
I spent yesterday afternoon flipping through the logbooks for the past three cycles, specifically checking the entries for Feb 20th through March 15th. I was looking for the specific patterns—the exact combination of sleep disturbance and impulse logging that led to financial mistakes or relational stress in the past. And let me tell you, this year is already lining up perfectly with the disaster scripts of 2021 and 2023.
This past week, I caught myself doing three classic “Pisces month” moves:
- I spent two hours intensely trying to organize digital files I haven’t touched in five years, instead of finishing the actual project deadline I had. (Classic distraction as avoidance.)
- I suddenly bought three overly dense books on advanced philosophy, convinced I needed a completely new worldview, even though I haven’t finished the massive pile of self-help books I bought last spring. (Impulse learning/massive pivot indicator.)
- My dreams shifted completely. Last night, I dreamed I was trying to herd several dozen screaming cats in a flooded basement. That’s a 10/10 warning sign for emotional overwhelm and feeling utterly ineffective. The “Cat Herding Dream” is code for major self-sabotage is imminent.
I immediately applied the historical data to this current moment. Back in 2021, the cat dream preceded a sudden, disastrous decision to try and fix my entire home’s plumbing myself, resulting in $800 in plumber fees and a flooded laundry room. In 2023, the cat dream preceded me quitting a profitable freelance gig because I decided I needed to “find my true artistic voice.” Result? Three months of financial anxiety.
Immediate Protocol Implementation
Based on the current log entries mirroring previous failures, I have locked down the immediate future. This isn’t about solving deep personal issues; it’s about minimizing immediate damage until the cycle passes. It’s practical, cold, and absolutely necessary.
I implemented the following steps immediately to survive the next three weeks:
- Financial Freeze: All non-essential spending is paused. I moved my investment account password into a physical locked safe and gave the key to my wife. If I need to access it, I have to explain why, in detail, to her first. This creates a critical, mandatory delay mechanism.
- Project Pause: No new major creative or work initiatives are allowed. If a “brilliant new idea” pops up, I can only write it down on a specific yellow notepad labeled “April review.” I am operating on autopilot for core tasks only.
- Isolation of High-Risk Contacts: I’ve decided to keep interactions with emotionally charged people—you know the ones who drain you—brief and strictly transactional. My irritability index is already high, and I cannot afford a stupid, energy-draining fight right now.
The system works because I stopped pretending my failures were unique occurrences and started treating them like seasonal weather patterns. I don’t try to stop the rain, I just grab an umbrella and stay inside until it clears. My practice log isn’t spiritual guidance; it’s just really, really cynical data analysis applied to my own stupid habits. And for this Pisces month, the data screams one thing: Hide your wallet and duct tape your mouth shut until April 1st. Trust the log.
