The 6-Month Plan: Is Dead.

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Okay, so remember the six-month plan?

Yeah.

About that.

When I started this whole thing back in March, I had this cute little collection of goals for myself. I was gonna get consistent with Instagram, write my book, start going to the gym, get better with skincare, fix my budget and generally become one of those people who seems to have some vague idea of what the fuck she is doing with her own life.

Then I did the two-month check-in and honestly? Things weren't terrible.

Some stuff was moving. Some stuff was very much not.

The gym had already entered witness protection, but there was still enough happening that I could look at the plan, squint a little and go, okay. She's alive.

Well..

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I regret to inform everyone that the six-month plan is now dead in the water.

There wasn't one big dramatic thing that happened. I didn't wake up one morning and decide fuck every goal I've ever had.

Life just kinda... happened all over it.

I still have not seen the inside of the gym, which is honestly becoming impressive considering I continue to PAY for access to said gym.

I'm still hopeful.

I even have actual workout plans now, which technically feels like progress if we're grading me entirely on preparation and not, you know, physically entering the building.

Budgeting also fell completely off the wagon.

Actually, I don't even think the wagon is involved anymore.

The wagon rolled into a ditch sometime around July and nobody has gone back to check on it.

The book changed too.

Project Hunter, the book I was so determined to finally make progress on, is currently sitting on a shelf somewhere stewing.

I don't hate it. I'm not abandoning it forever. I just hit that point where every time I tried to make myself go back to it, it felt like dragging one of those shopping carts with the fucked up wheel through an entire parking lot.

So naturally, instead of finishing the book I already started, I started another one.

Because of course I did.

This one is a second-chance sapphic love story and honestly it feels way closer to the kind of thing I actually want to be writing right now.

I have the characters. I have the general shape of the story. I have approximately twelve thousand thoughts and feelings about it.

I also have one opening line written.

We are doing amazing.

The bigger problem is my brain has apparently decided I'm not allowed to properly start the next thing until every single loose end from the last thing has been tied up first.

Because somewhere in all of this, I also completely rebranded my entire little corner of the internet.

Again.

The Coffee Loft became The Loft. The blog became The Loft Edit. The merch side became The Loft Counter. The Discord needed changing. Graphics needed changing. Links needed updating. Pages needed fixing. Old wording needed hunting down.

Basically I changed a few words on the internet and somehow created seventeen new jobs for myself.

I love the rebrand.

It feels right. Probably more right than anything I've done with this little online world in a long time.

My brain, however, does not understand the phrase "you can finish the rest later."

Absolutely fucking not.

Every duck must be in a row.

Every graphic must be updated.

Every page must be fixed.

Every outdated reference must be found and destroyed before I am apparently allowed to sit down and focus on literally anything else.

AuDHD is so fun because I can desperately want to move forward while my brain is standing in the doorway pointing behind me going, absolutely not, there is still one crooked picture frame back there.

And then July happened.

I had some money come in and used part of it to finally get some furniture for the house, including something we have somehow been living without for way too long.

A couch.

WE HAVE A FUCKING COUCH.

I understand this is an incredibly normal adult purchase, but after not having one for as long as we did, it genuinely feels like we unlocked an expansion pack for the house.

Unfortunately, getting new furniture also apparently meant every single thing we owned needed to move.

So since about mid-July, the house has been in various stages of "why the fuck is this here?"

There are things that need homes. Things that need moved. Things that need thrown out. The living room is halfway between the old setup and whatever the hell we're trying to make it now.

Which means another part of my brain has decided I cannot possibly get back into a routine until the house itself feels settled.

Cool.

Love that for me.

And because apparently I looked around at all of this and thought, you know what would really help? Another project.

I decided I want to start streaming again.

So now I'm setting up OBS, fixing audio, figuring out alerts, building overlays, organizing scenes, fighting with widgets and trying to remember everything I apparently once knew about streaming before I disappeared from it.

At some point I looked around at the rebrand, the half-rearranged house, the streaming setup, the budget I haven't looked at, the gym membership I'm basically donating money to every month and the book containing one brave little sentence and realized...

Oh.

The six-month plan is not happening.

Like at all.

And weirdly?

I'm okay with that.

Not because I don't care about the original goals anymore.

I still want to write.

I still want to improve my cardio.

I would still really love to stop treating budgeting like an optional side quest I can just ignore until the red exclamation mark starts flashing.

But trying to force myself back onto a plan I made in March for a version of my life that does not really exist anymore seems kinda stupid.

So the plan has officially been demoted.

My current goals are significantly less glamorous:

A) Reclaim the house.

B) Finish setting up my stream stuff and OBS.

C) Get my ass back into something resembling a routine.

That's it.

No big monthly benchmarks. No pretending I'm about to wake up tomorrow transformed into a woman who meal preps every Sunday and has a colour-coded spreadsheet tracking every dollar she spends.

I just need my house back.

I need my projects set up.

And I need enough structure underneath me that I stop feeling like I'm constantly trying to remember what the fuck I'm supposed to be doing.

I did, however, accidentally create what might be my greatest organizational invention yet.

A reusable planner.

Because one of my other ongoing problems is that I cannot commit to one planner or notebook system for more than five minutes.

I want to change the layout.

Then add a page.

Then remove a page.

Then reorganize everything.

Then decide the system I was obsessed with three weeks ago is suddenly personally offensive to me.

So instead of continuing to buy planners just to abandon them halfway through, I spent at least two work shifts making my own.

I printed all the pages. Laminated everything. Now I can use dry erase markers and reuse the same pages over and over again.

And if you get a decent marker, the ink actually stays there until you intentionally wipe it off instead of immediately smearing across the page the second your hand gets near it.

Why has nobody stopped me from becoming this powerful?

Should I patent it?

Don't answer that.

I'm already mentally designing version two.

Maybe that's actually the update.

The six-month plan failed.

I didn't.

Things changed.

My priorities changed. My house changed. My creative direction changed. My entire fucking brand changed because apparently I am incapable of experiencing one calm fiscal quarter.

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So I'm not restarting the six-month plan.

I'm not making a new six-month plan either.

I'm just figuring out what needs me first.

Right now, that's home, streaming and finding some kind of routine again.

The gym can keep waiting nervously in the distance.

I know where it lives.

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Sometimes getting your shit together starts with admitting the old plan has absolutely no idea what is going on anymore.

Talk soon, Kass ☕🌿