All those things I was griping about have been abating. So . . . that wasn't how it was all going to end. Sleep has been returning, but not perfect. It's not relentless insomnia anymore. Recovery sleep still wrecking.

I've been able to eat, but limited. Gastrointestinal issues, the least I know anything about, are likely chronic but have abated.

I may even try exercising again after the debacle last time over two weeks ago. There's a psychological barrier that appears when something unpleasant like that happens. There's both the unpleasantness aspect as well as the feeling that I shouldn't be doing this anymore because I can't. Which in my defense, at my age, is fair.

If I can't manage even 3 miles at a super slow pace, whatever. I have no problem quitting trying. I don't even know why I'm even trying.

When I was younger it was impulse. Craving. I grew up in places where winter was cold, and I couldn't run in cold weather because I'd get asthma. But once spring came along, I would get antsy if I didn't start running. It felt like something I had to do.

It's definitely not something I need to do now. As for cycling, I filled the tires on my bike two weeks ago, telling myself if I hadn't gone on a ride in two days, I'd deflate them. I've done neither, but I think I'll be deflating them this evening.

Whatever I do, it'll wait until the end of the Tour de France which I've been following on TV. The last stage is tomorrow. When I was younger, but older than running days, watching the TdF would have inspired me to get on my bike, but not now. Tackling climbs? Why?!! Looks painful, and I know how painful it is.

Morning sitting is still out. It wasn't too long ago that I would wake up and think of not sitting, but then think it was the most important thing I'd be doing that day and proceed with it.

I, of course, wouldn't mind getting back to it once the impulse or inspiration hits, but so far I haven't noticed anything different in my daily mindfulness whether I sit or not.

I don't think I could ever abandon or decry the benefits of sitting meditation, but perhaps the lifestyle I've chosen whereby I'm just waiting to die and have no social contacts or substantive attachments is by nature mindfulness practice. Don't need to pull myself out of something I'm not even sucked into.

The question still persists why I'm still alive, though. I'm still working on that. I've taken to focusing on certain body parts – a finger joint, or where an internal organ likely is – and asking what it has to do with me. There's a bone in here, is it me? No. Why should it exist? Why is it in any way important? It's not.

I still stare into mirrors and visualize and imagine the skull that is the basis for my head appearance. Strip off the outer flesh and all skulls look the same. You can't look at a skull and identify the person it was. It's the vanity of identity.

And as I've done many times before, I remind myself that the purpose of distancing myself from any and everyone has been to lessen any impact of my death. To make it theoretical, rather than emotional.

I hear about people dying and the emotional response by their loved ones, and I've worked to minimize that for when I die. There's just no proximity of any kind whereby anyone can be substantively affected by my dying.

Not physical, emotional, not even communication, any sort of connection, there's no proximity by which anyone could claim to be affected by my death. I've done well I must say so myself.

Misery and distress continue with insomnia, inability to eat and gastrointestinal problems which have disrupted all aspects of my life. Fortunately, my life does not have many aspects to be significantly disrupted.

Last night was total insomnia. No sleep at all. You flip the light switch and nothing happens. Eventually I blacked out at about 7 in the morning and woke up with a few interruptions around noon. That's optimistically five hours solid as far as I'm concerned.

The eating issue has a simple solution: don't eat. I keep getting tempted to eat or feeling I need to eat, or even feeling hungry, and I fall for it and even if I nibble at morsels, it puts me in some kind of agonizing food coma for several hours.

Eating anything has been triggering the gastrointestinal issues. Again the solution is to not eat. And stay close to home, or even better don't even go out.

Exercising has been completely out. Especially after last week's incident, which I've been thinking was the result of the plod itself, and not incidental to trying to do something. It adds up. If you can't take in nutrition, any exertion is going to lead to distress.

It is miserable and distressing. It's only balanced out by the fact that I have no responsibilities to anything or anyone so there's no external stress. I don't have to be anywhere or do anything. If I feel I can't get out for the day, I don't have to explain myself to anyone. No one will even know.

If I can't eat, if I can't sleep, it affects no one, no one needs to know. There's a slight question for myself how much of this I can take. When the balance of misery and distress tips any mitigating factors that are keeping me alive, whatever that means.

Insomnia may be abating, but recovery sleep is also brutal with difficulty getting up and general fatigue. My life is so fucked. Fuck my life. There are no words and no limit to how much my life is fucked.

Now that I've got that out of my system, at least I have and have had some modicum of control over my life and destiny. Even if it was just to fuck it.

Eating is fucked. All I ate yesterday was a bakery pretzel. Today just a simple portion of plain noodles, during which I knew it was the only thing I was going to eat for the rest of the day. No hunger or appetite otherwise.

Yesterday I woke up with my calves sore even though I haven't done any exercise in two weeks. It was odd. But even though I haven't been feeling great lately, I decided to try to go out and at least walk my three mile course.

I ended up plodding through it with full intention of stopping if I felt any discomfort anywhere. It was a woeful 10:56 average pace, but I've done worse in the past few months.

Afterwards I started feeling really bad, like I was going to pass out. I was too weak to even do cool down stretches. As I slowly trudged my way home, I seriously, at times, wondered if I was going to make it or if . . . this was how it was going to end.

Of course, I did make it home and ultimately alright. But it did give me a thought. I recently saw a video of a bull being killed in a Spanish bullfight. The fatal blow had already been dealt.

The video was showing how brutal and inhumane bullfighting is. Ironically, this was just a few days after news of a top bullfighter having died from his injuries from being gored. I'm sorry to say I had minimal compassion or sympathy for him.

But the video chronicled the bull's death and how blood loss was leading to its major organs shutting down and struggling until it collapsed and died. It gave me insights on what it might be like to die of untreated liver failure.

I haven't been able to find any description of what that experience is actually like. But drinking the way I do, I should expect liver failure at some point down the line. Of course it's a matter of personal physiology and there have been people who drink like I do who live to ripe old ages.

But drinking about a bottle a day (liquor, not beer) can be expected to progressively impair liver function. They say the liver is a very resilient organ and if the drinking stops, the liver can repair itself to a certain extent.

So it's not easy to push it over the point of no return, but once the liver loses its functionality, once it stops playing the role of "one that lives", the effects cascade. Other organs start shutting down and as parts of the system fail, the whole system eventually fails.

With the liver, it's not immediately critical like a heart attack or stroke or bleeding out. I gather it's more a matter of toxicity in the body rising until it gets critical. But then once it's critical, it's "immediately critical".

Is it painful? Probably. But it's also probably brief. If the system can't function, you die possibly quickly. If a person can be rushed to a hospital, there's a possibility of revival and recovery. But if I'm not counting on that, if I've abused my liver for so long without any expectation of living beyond its ability, it's possible that when it goes, I go.

If it happens in public, while I'm out, after or during a jog, I'm likely just to lie down somewhere as indiscreetly as possible and let the public and authorities figure it out. I never carry ID with me, so good luck to them.

I felt bad after that three-mile plod. I wondered whether I could make it home. But I took it moment at a time and proceeded as I felt I was well enough to.

At some point in the future, I might not feel like I could go any further. I may become disoriented and too weak. And the realization that I seriously don't think I'd be making it home and just find somewhere indiscreet to stop.

This gives me great comfort over the possibility of dying while writhing in agony and misery at home because I decided to eat something that day.

I'm having trouble just chilling with insomnia these days. It feels like I'm under attack, and along with eating and stomach issues and the questionable continuation of trying to run, quality of life has taken a dip.

Weather, too. Every year a benchmark is when air conditioning is turned on and off for the season. It came on the last week of June, which means it's starting get buttcrack hot in Taipei. And that's a plumber's buttcrack, not a lingerie model's.

And to be even clearer with the visual, that's a male plumber and female lingerie model, not the other way around. Can't make assumptions these days, for better or worse.

It's been more than a year since I tried to start running again. I didn't expect much, but then surprisingly started showing signs of improvement in speed and distance by last October.

That was all interrupted by having to go to New Jersey in November, and when I got back I pulled my Achilles tendon my first time out. Since then it's all been bad with no improvement in speed or distance, long periods of rest trying to recover, and shin splints on top of Achilles threats.

I'm ready to call it. Weather is clearing for one more attempt and even though my cardiovascular fitness has been holding me back for the past few months, I'm not going to baby my legs from injury. Any shin splints or tendinitis, I'm done.

Finally, morning sitting has stopped for what feels like weeks. If I put my mind to it, I can probably start up again, but part of me is wondering what's the point?

I haven't noticed any difference in my mind or days whether I sit or not, but I'm sure there's a difference, and it's a matter of noticing it. One sitting may do that.