Back on Track
29 August 2026
It's now 5:20 a.m. Saturday morning. Today is a special day for me, inside a special week. Today is special because I feel like I'm back on track with my writing. For the last fortnight, all my writing has been laboured, but today I broke through: not only to tackle a project I've had on the back burner, but to feel like Stella has got her groove back. In this analogy, I am Stella.
And the week is special not only because Prime Minister Anthony Albanese came to Dubbo, the place I call home. I wasn't aware at the time, but I love that the Prime Minister was in town when I shot my first livestream. Then, the day after, I livestreamed again. I know what you're thinking: “Big deal, Ricky. People livestream all the time.” But for me, it was a big hurdle to overcome.
I wasn't worried about results. I just wanted to get it done, to push through the fear and do it. Now it's done, I feel liberated, and I like my process.
Shoot live, wait for it to process, then download it and edit it into clips. I've gone in on content creation over the last couple of weeks, and this process works well for grabbing footage to post.
After four months of coding, I'm glad I made the switch. The real test will be whether I can keep at it and not give up before I get some traction. I'm positive that if I stick at it, the traction will come, but I'm not good at sticking with one thing for long periods. I tend to chop and change after a while.
Two issues emerge. First, I get bored easily and want to change tracks for a while, but social is all about consistency. Second, traction might take a long time to come, and I might get fed up with getting nowhere fast.
Time will be my judge, but my track record isn't great. That's all I'm saying.
Wish me luck!
Cheers,
Ricky
Three Hours Before the Girls Get Up
3 September 2026
It's 3:17 a.m. and I'm up and at my computer. I've had my standard two caffeine tablets out of the little white pill bottle. It starts out with 100 pills, and they are 100 mg each. I have five or six left. It's been ten minutes and they still haven't kicked in, so the morning smile hasn't spread across my face. I'm still wiped. Give it a minute and I'll come to life.
I write at this hour because if I leave it too late, I don't write. I move on to other ventures, like video most recently and, before that, coding. My mind is strained; I'm weary, but I hopped up because I woke up naturally, not because I'd set an alarm. I wonder if I'd still be awake if I just rolled over and went back to sleep. I would have missed out on three or four hours of productive time before the girls get up. They like me around to help out and add commentary, and to tell them they're beautiful, which is easy because they are.
It's Thursday, so I weigh myself today and have my GLP-1 needle. I really haven't lost much weight this week, I don't think—not even a measly kilogram—but time will tell.
I plan on shooting video today, as I've told myself I'll be shooting video for the past three days, but no video has been shot because I've been too neurotic and weak to have the mental energy needed. I forgot to tell myself to do a crappy job and just be bad. That's the fix. Then I'm not being precious or perfectionistic about it, so I can get in the reps until it becomes rote.
Spring hit me five minutes ago, three days late. The pollen is in the air. I can sense it by the fact that my right eye is itchy as anything and all I can do is rub it. I need an eye wipe, but I used the last one fifteen minutes ago to get the sleep out of my eye. Spring has hit and I'm out of eye wipes. Oh, the irony. I'll go and wash it off in the basin. So bad, so stingy.
I went to an immunologist last week, or some type of -ologist that deals with allergies. I've sent away for a needle at the -ologist's behest, which should make me a little less reactive to the grasses I'm allergic to. She also gave me a script for olopatadine eye drops, so I just put some in my eye after washing it out. It's working, but my nose has started to run, as happens with pollen allergies. I'm also allergic to animals. Cats and horses are the worst, but I also got prick-tested for dog, which didn't show up. That's weird because I'm allergic to dogs. According to the -ologist, it's the dust mites living on the dog hair I'm allergic to, and not the hair itself. Which is weird, because with cats I get an eye allergy from cat hair, same with horses, but not dogs. Dogs are little bugs, all hair, different cause. Sounds like a load of bull, but okay, the doc knows best.
The caffeine has kicked in and I'm more alive, but still feeling a little drained and weary. I don't like that feeling. Maybe I should have slept, but then no writing. Writing makes me happy.
I went to see a physio a few days ago to get some exercises to strengthen my back, as I've had problems with it recently. No more lifting other people's furniture! It was the same lady who worked on my son's flat feet back 15 years ago. I've got four new exercises, still yet to do them. Maybe today. She said I should buy a flash office chair so I don't slouch. Ricky loves a slouchy chair. I'll think about it.
Farting and Other Philosophies
4 September 2026
I got up at the reasonable hour of 5 a.m. this very morn. I could have hopped up earlier; I woke four times, but I've been struggling to focus during the day with really early starts and all.
The world tosses and turns, as do I. Waking, I feel, is a good problem. It gives me options. If I was sleeping 12 hours a day at this age, I'd probably be depressed. I was a lot more tired in my twenties. It might have been the lack of healthy food, but they say tired is an emotion, not a state, so it could have been psychological. Maybe they don't say that. Maybe I made it up or got confused. Unsure. The point is, me like early start.
Fifty is the new 100, as they say. Not long for death—well, I hope not. But I didn't look after myself for two decades: smoking, drinking, drugging (myself, that is), poor nutrition, late nights, little physical exercise, asthma, undiagnosed sleep apnoea (Oh, that was the tired thing!), diagnosed schizophrenia. I'd say the list goes on, but that's about it.
I've come so far mentally, but I'm fatter for the whole experience, and with bad teeth. My breath is fine, mind you. I owe it all to my lovely wife, married circa 13 years—I'm not doing maths at this hour. Oh, and Jesus, when I'm not trying to actively avoid His word, so the changes in me aren't so radical that I move to a South American village and start proselytising.
I've lost 10 kilos. Only cost me $1,600. Go GLP-1s. I'm on Wegovy, but am planning to switch to Mounjaro, which has the higher dose. I need it; still “hunghung” (hungry), as my daughter says.
Spring is here, slightly warmer in the morning, but not warm enough. Which reminds me, I'll have to learn how to survive heatwaves. Super El Niño on the way, apparently.
People get me wrong. Sometimes they confuse my humour for being a cunt. It's easy to get people offside these days. I should know; I'm easy enough to trigger. Just mention “shitting your pants” and “fish and chip shop” in the same sentence.
I'm not a cunt, though, not these days. I try my best to uplift people, not tear them down, even the dicks. Dicks and wankers and slags are just broken people. I was broken once; I understand. What really shits me is they will potentially stay dicks, wankers and slags all their lives. It's sad. I'm one of the lucky ones who fucked their shit up so badly that I had no other possible way to address it than by working on myself.
Then God chose for me the absolute best wife possible. I'm incredibly lucky, and so is she, if I'm being honest. We are a perfect match. Like Thelma and Louise, if Louise was a man and they didn't drive off a cliff, but instead worked on themselves and each other.
Just remember, you can't say the word “farting” about without the word “farting.” Are we in agreement?
Smashing It, Sort Of
5 September 2026
It's 5:30 a.m., a reasonable hour. I'm feeling good but have a little resistance to work, nothing that can't be overcome by starting. I've written every day this week, and a good amount. Smashing it. I put that down to the fact my mind is on video, so I'm not overthinking my writing. All the pressure is on making video. I've only shot once this week. It was a good session, but on other days the resistance has been too high.
Sluggish. Things aren't flowing this morning. I tidied my office yesterday. It has order now and a better background for shooting.
A Little Bit of a Loser
3 September 2026
I said to my wife a few days ago that I was a little bit of a loser. Then I said, “Am I a loser?” and she said, “A little bit.” That affected me more than it should. I am a little bit of a loser. I am unemployable, I only bring in a little money, I'm fat and lazy, and don't get on with people outside those I love. Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner: loser. It hits harder when it comes out of my wife's mouth.
I'm turning 50 next April. I'm a content creator with very few people interested in the unpolished drivel I put out. Yet, all in all, I'm positive. I'm the eternal optimist, always thinking I can improve and find a way. I've always been a bit of a loser; it's one of my strengths. People underestimate me. Underestimate what? I'll let you decide!
Three weeks into switching from coding to content creation and I've already changed things up. I have a tendency to go in circles. I get sick of what I'm doing and move on to another creative format for a while. I really need to stick at this and improve if I want to see traction. So I'm hoping I don't derail myself. I've already thought of pulling the pin, but thinking about it and doing it are different kettles of fish. The change-up I see as necessary so my attention isn't split over too many channels. Now I just have my business (web design), me (personal brand), and humour (secondary). I had a brand called Be a BOB. I'm keeping the idea, but rather than have it stand alone, I've moved it under my personal brand. I've also gotten rid of my songs and stories YouTube channel and put that under funny.
I'm not niching down. I find it impossible. I have a few main things, then some other stuff. You get my whole package. That way, if you're attracted to one piece of content, you'll be turned off by another. It all squares well. Hmmm!
My writing is humming along because I've made video my main thing, so I'm no longer overthinking writing. I'm overthinking how crap I am at video. I want mass production, not one perfect video a week, but because I'm unpolished as a speaker and not using an autocue, the output is not up to modern internet standards. But I push on. I'll find my way and play to my strengths. I've just got to figure out what they are first.
I was going all in on Shorts, but I realised Shorts are not my strength. I've narrowed things down a little and added more options. If I stick at this, I will improve. I'll find my grooves or wear them in, whichever comes first.
There's so much to know in both writing and video, but I don't want to improve my skills. I want to experiment until I find ways of delivering my best self. I watch videos and read a little, but nothing sticks. I'm old; I have to find my existing strengths and exploit them. I'm a bit of a hack at everything, so I'll find the best hacky approach. It'll either work out or I'll keep spinning my tires until the tread wears out.
Kind regards,
Ricky Browne
Trying to Find the Right Track
19 August 2026
I texted my father-in-law around three yesterday to let him know that I had discussed with Liz that she should get a job at the moment and stay home and focus on family. I wrote that because Liz feels a lot of outside pressure to conform to societal standards, biblical standards, and her dad's standards. Being Presbyterian, he loves his work and doesn't appreciate anyone not working and bringing in income.
I suggested to Liz, given that she's so stressed and anxious, that she spend at least six months at home, where she can focus on our daughter and not be in fight-or-flight or worry mode constantly. I said I will do more to find clients, as I've been doing a bit of IT/web work for a few of my ten clients lately—more than usual.
I've avoided taking on new clients because it's so stressful, but now I have AI, I feel I can do most things in a timely manner, so I don't feel like I'm either ripping myself off or the client off. It's a big shift. I also feel that even though I have a lot of personal moonshots going on, I can still do any work that comes in, whereas before it felt like one or the other. I'm still a little apprehensive about how much new work I can actually bring in, but I'm hoping I'll give it a red-hot go.
We have some money in reserve, so we won't need to borrow to get by, but it would be good if we don't start going backwards, because that will put pressure on Liz to work. We both have mental illnesses, so for me it's not as clear as “suck it up and work and just be miserable and sick, then die early,” like you should.
Grace and I go a lot better with Liz at home, and we own our house, so we don't have rent eating away at our savings. We both eat healthier when we have the time to.
Owen hasn't responded to my text, so I woke up at about quarter to one worrying I'm not on the right track and leading Liz astray, and worrying that I spend too much time on my own nonsense instead of focusing on clear ways to earn money to survive and thrive, like a job.
I'm a progressive and only conservative on some issues relating to family, etc. But I would like to know where I stand biblically. My progressive mind and what I know about how the economy works make me think it's okay that we aren't slaves to a wage. But I want to be right with God. I don't care about pressure from other Christians if what I do is right with God. At 1 a.m. in the morning, I'm just not sure.
I do a lot of work. I'm not lazy. Most of my work is mind work, mind you. It's just, does that count if it doesn't contribute to supporting family? I definitely try to support others with my work. Through my videos and writing, does that count? Or is a good Christian one who gives up on art and focuses on a living wage?
I'd love to support my family through my endeavours, but I'm not sure I ever will. I'm trying to make that happen. I'm waiting for a windfall. Am I right to put Liz's health and family over monetary security, or am I just adding another layer of wrong and selfishness?
At the end of the day, it's up to Liz, but there is what she wants and what she feels pressure to do. It's a hard one.
I pray that one day I can say I make money with my craft, but at the moment I'm miles from that ever happening.
So I want to make web design be the gap. It won't be as good as Liz working, but at least for now it would be great if I could have her at home with me, without the pressure to provide because I can't or won't.
A Back Story
19 August 2026
It's 1:08 in the morning, a bit early to be up, but here I am. This is the first thing I've tried to write since putting my desk in stand-up mode. I used to write like this, but I don't know how I did it. It doesn't feel right, but I'll battle on, I think—or go sit down. Not sure at this stage. I just went and sat down, back to what I'm used to, but I'm leaving my desk that way so I move more while working, and also because I have a bad back. It was good yesterday because I didn't sit down at my desk, so we'll see what my back overall makes of this writing session later in the day.
I've got a physio appointment in a few weeks to strengthen my back and learn a few exercises. Maybe I'll ask her what I should be doing to lose weight. I've lost probably eight kilos in three months, half of that in the last two weeks, now I'm on a stronger dose of Wegovy. On Thursday I step up to the highest dose, so maybe I'll really start dropping the pounds after that if I keep exercising and don't gorge myself on delicious unhealthy food.
I helped one of my in-laws move house a bit back, and I either fucked my back then or when I stood up and sat down ten times while exercising. I'd say the lifting wasn't good, and the exercise a week after topped it off. I don't know. It was weeks ago; I'm fuzzy on events.
I feel guilty just knowing that the next person who asks me to lift something, I should say no. But it's hard to say no when people need a hand lifting something.
This is not the first time I've had this particular back problem, but it has been bad this time. Not sitting at my desk does the trick in soothing its angry wrath.
I really don't think anyone should be subjected to reading this particular piece of writing. It's a plain old biscuit. But I move forward knowing there are probably other things that could be said about back issues, none of which come to mind at present.
Driving in the car is hard. We are going to get rid of our smaller car because my back doesn't respond well.
Back. Back. Back, back.
I can feel a little twinge already. But I push on. Back...
If I knew any good back jokes, now would be a good time to bring them out.
I'll make one up: What do you call a duck with a bad back? No duck!
Not sure if that one works.
Bend with the knees, Ricky. Well, my knees aren't that great either.
Took me 25 minutes to write this. I think it was worth it. I'm going to read it now and see if I missed any points I should go “back” over. You know things are tough when you start using puns.
I've just reread it, and because it was about me, I found it quite interesting. I don't know if you have. Email me at ricky@rickybrowne.com and let me know if you appreciated my back story, or if you think it was lacking in data about back issues, prevalence, and treatment.
P.S. I only took Panadol for the pain, because I don't want to get benedicted.
Out of Hiding
26 June 2026
As I sit at my desk at just past 5 a.m., I'm very thankful for what life has thrown at me, how I've overcome, and where my days will lead. I've achieved a lot in the last five years, not in monetary success or accolades, but in the scope of work I've achieved and how far along I am on my creative journey. Travel back three hours, to 2 a.m. I sat down at my desk in mild panic. I've never really thought of imposter syndrome as something that has affected me, but I'm not sure what else to call it.
I've been hiding, producing, yes, but hiding. I took the time to work out my bottlenecks a month ago and came to the heavy realisation that I'm all output with no clear throughline, no audience, no eyeballs. Just banging out work and hiding away. While my direction is the same as it has always been, it's time to stop hiding. It's not just me and the screen; it's me and seven billion others. Some have paths to follow that are similar to my own, and I can help those people. But I can't do it hiding. I can't be moving in a million different directions and hope to land at a destination worthy of the time I have spent trying to understand and fashion insights that move the needle in the journey of overcoming, becoming, and creating.
That fear is that I am not enough, that I am still, after all these years, half-baked, or even worse, overcooked; that my efforts will in the end amount to a life of change and growth, but only for myself, not those I can help, those in need of light in the dark places we find ourselves at times of great upheaval.
In some ways, I feel more ready than ever. But we can all feel like we have something to offer those walking their own path, who might have a similarly angular trajectory to our own. The doubt comes from knowing that while many might possess that feeling, not all are really up to such a task. The doubt is: in which of those two groups do I sit—the delusional wannabes, or the ones that actually achieve such things? And those who do it in such a way that success doesn't lead to a hollowing out, to a state where you've made it, but the goal—the whole reason you stuck your head out in the first place—is gone, and it becomes all about success, forgetting the purpose.
A Big Chicken with Tiny Arms
Back at it, the write stuff, making things write, the punification of writing.
Air conditioner remotes confuse me, is the sun symbol talking about providing heat, or is it saying, for use in summer. I know the answer now, but it took me a bit.
I'm nearly ready to publish my 2002-2004 journal, "Fat Loser with a Laptop." I can get a few readers for this one; no one was interested in my Ridiculous Ideas book. This book will bring some intrigue.
Will you get something out of it, or wish you'd had watched reruns of SharkQuest DSP? Who knows!!!!!! Who nose!!!!!
When Liz and I had a podcast, she wanted to change its name to 'Browne Knows', a play on brownnosing. No, Liz, we can't call it that!
Lucky she's pretty. Did you know in high school, my wife got a T. E. R of 95? It wasn't called that when she finished high school. They had changed it to the GFI or General Flerg Indicator by then, after Australia's love of the Black Eyed Peas, in particular, Fergie Ferg the lead woman.
Anyway; as Ellen DeGeneres says at the end of her talk show, before she got cancelled, then cancelled again, then moved to England to await her next cancelling. God works in mysterious ways, but they're not really mysterious to him, just us peasants.
Grace is at a Christian school now, which I'm quite happy with, because the kids are slightly less cunty than in the public system.
They should really have schools for bogan parents, to learn how not to be so themselves all the time.
Do you know that the closest relative to the T. rex today is the chicken.
I went to the Dubbo show last weekend, and if you attached little arms to some of those birds, there is definitely a resemblance.
I knew the answer to the chicken-and-egg problem before scientists worked it out. They say they can tell because of some protein or some shit, but really it's simple math.
Chickens evolved from another animal that laid eggs. Mutations occur in conception at the egg stage, not during the chicken's adult life. So, all changes from T. rex to chicken were preceded by the egg, as the ancestors of chickens were egg layers.
If the chicken evolved to lay eggs, then, of course, the chicken came first.
I should be headed up the team smashing particles together in the Large Hadron Collider, if only I weren't such a fuckup early on, I could have went to Uni, luckily I didn't because when I was young, I was a fuckup, and would have spent that time having large amounts of fun and failing as a human being.
But Lord Browne, King of the Andols and of the seven-nation army of Gliff, why don't you go to Uni now? No thanks, I'm busy writing this garbage.
Remember that 'Men at Work' song? Nah, you were probably too young.
Anyway, I'm fat, so I'll probably die before you. I would like to be put on a dingy and set on fire by arrow while floating down the Macquarie river.
Never forget!
Published 21-10-2025
A Good Egg
My wife is a good egg.
I got shitty at her and my issue was left unresolved for a day and a half.
Normally, if we have a falling out, it is resolved quickly, but I had plenty of time to let my frustrations stew, meaning that when we actually got into the act of communication, I was harsh and hurtful.
She took it gracefully, cured my bitterness with understanding and got us back on track.
She's a good egg.
I try not to get wound up like that and very rarely do, so it's good she had the fortitude to see my frustration and criticism for what it was, hurt, and responded with love.
She's a good egg.
Published 6-9-2025
