Happy Halloween! I hope you’re celebrating in full costume glory. Me? I’m no Halloween person. No costumes, no face paint—just me, in all my unadorned splendor.

I noticed my last post here was September 10, and let me tell you, things haven’t exactly been "great" since. In fact, the universe seemed to go full horror movie on me. It all started around September 17 when I noticed I was basically living in the bathroom. Off to urgent care I went, where they diagnosed me with a UTI and handed over some antibiotics. I thought, “Great, a few pills, and I’ll be fine.” Oh, how naïve I was.

By October 1, my body was in full rebellion. Feverish, miserable, and peeing every ten minutes, I trudged back to urgent care, expecting another quick fix. But instead, they hooked me up to an IV as if my pulse rate of 125 was the star of some medical drama. Turns out, I was in early sepsis. They pumped me full of more antibiotics and sent me off with a recommendation to see a urologist, making it sound as ominous as a cliffhanger.

I dutifully followed up with the urologist and got my next prescription: Bactrim. A few days on Bactrim, and guess what? Still not better. So, back to urgent care I went. This time, they told me I had prostatitis (an enlarged prostate), handed over yet another antibiotic, Flomax, and wished me luck. My body was now officially a pharmaceutical experiment.

Finally, I got to the urologist, who mentioned something about needing a procedure called TURP—a name that sounds like it was designed to scare me. After a CT scan revealed even more “scary stuff,” I decided to save the panicking for my next appointment.

So, no, "Only Great Things" hasn’t quite applied lately. But here I am, determined to write more, shake off this funk, and find the good—or at least the humor—in all of this. After all, my name’s Ron, and no matter what, only great things happen to me… eventually.

Welcome to my Substack, "Only Great Things Happen to Me," a title that sounds suspiciously like something you'd find on a motivational poster in a dentist's office. If you're anything like me, the mere mention of self-help might trigger an eye roll so profound it could be mistaken for a seizure. Yet, here I am, a reformed skeptic, preaching the gospel of positivity. I imagine my previous self, seated comfortably in cynicism, would find this turn of events both baffling and mildly entertaining.

It all began with a co-worker, the type who radiates optimism like a solar panel on a cloudless day. Her mantra was simple: "My name is [Blank], and only good things happen to me." Initially, I dismissed it as one of those annoyingly cheerful affirmations people mutter to themselves while waiting for their organic chai latte. But then, curiosity—or perhaps desperation—got the better of me. I tried it out, and to my surprise, the phrase had a peculiar effect. It was like a verbal placebo, tricking my mind into a state of unwarranted cheerfulness.

For years, I had been my own worst critic. My inner dialogue was a relentless loop of self-deprecating commentary: "I'm fat, I'm poor, I'll never amount to anything." These thoughts, always eager to remind me of my inadequacies, were as familiar as an old pair of sneakers—comfortable, but likely to trip me up. Yet, despite this mental cacophony, I had a job that didn't make me want to gouge my eyes out, a husband who hadn't yet run for the hills, and the courage to uproot my life from the east coast to the west in pursuit of some elusive notion of happiness.

In January, I embarked on a new adventure: Ozempic. This wonder drug promised to assist in weight loss, but it came with the realization that true healing was an inside job. It's akin to buying a treadmill and expecting it to do the running for you. This blog is my attempt to chronicle the messy, often humorous journey toward self-love and positivity. By sharing my experiences, I hope to offer a smidgen of inspiration—or at the very least, a few laughs—as we navigate this path together, striving to become the best versions of ourselves, or at least slightly improved ones.

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