01 february 2026
Since I've uised this blog for thoughts relating to my mental health in the past, I feel like this one belongs here, too.
Last year (2025) I've read one book. As I did the year before. I made it a goal to finish the book till the end of the year in both cases. And it wasn't easy in both cases. Stress from work and a lack of balance in my private life made use up most of my time for sleeping, relaxing and trying to keep my household clean enough that at least it wouldn't disgust myself. I sort of managed that. But – with the exception of my yearly summer holiday weeks – I didn't manage do do anything productive worth mentioning. That wasn't well. As it seems to be often the case, I didn't realise, though, how unwell I was, until I got the chance to work less and calm down. Now I know I was hardly functioning. And even though I'm sure there are levels of being unwell mentally far beyond of what I experienced, I'm defining this, my current life, as the new minimum of how well I should be in order so call my life meaningful in the slightest – be it just to myself.
I don't have one standard way of measuring how well I fell currently. But in terms of being able to read books: I've read one in January (started, finished and enjoyed) and it was much longer than the tiny and thin one I've read last year. I've already started the next book. A more challenging one, linguistically and story-wise. Let's see how that goes.
Overall health status estimation since last entry: body: -; mind: +