“He had every reason to give up on human beings and he never did.”

“He had every reason to give up on human beings and he never did.” -Lynn Coady on Kurt Vonnegut

The stages of a common mood cycle of mine:

  1. A new venture is undertaken; initial action is full of enthusiasm and interest
  2. At some point, a difficult obstacle manifests
  3. A hesitant retreat, ostensibly to think more about how to deal with it
  4. Procrastination
  5. General ambivalence about ability to overcome obstacle
  6. General ambivalence about life, why am I so incompetent at everything
  7. Moodiness
  8. The “fuck it” stage: I don’t give a shit anymore
  9. Fuck you, obstacle! I am going to destroy you if it kills me!
  10. Progress

That’s how it is. Fits and spurts. I think most people reverse stages 9 and 8. However, in my case, not caring for awhile usually results in me caring a lot later on, whereupon I swerve my gaze-of-Sauron back on the initial problem after pretending it didn’t exist. And then there is renewed fury and fervor, and finally, miracle of miracles, usually some degree of progress.

I’m not sure if there’s any way I can avoid steps 3-8.

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“The best is the enemy of the good.”

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Here comes the ferry!
Good morning, March. This month kicked off in a good (if fattening) way: on Friday I had lunch at RN74 (Michael Mina’s restaurant) with outside counsel. It was a long and decadent meal, although portions were quite reasonable. But there were several courses. I tasted my first raw oyster (not a fan. It just tasted like a dash of ocean phglem on the tongue), and loved the maitake mushroom tempura. My main course was a dorade with a side of mussels, and the best dessert was the house made almond roca bar.
I tottered out of the restaurant and dialed Carter, drunk on the unseasonal sun and the glorious food, and asked him to play hooky with me the rest of the day. He responded that he couldn’t, but then twenty minutes later I charged up the Flood building and into his office and he was unable to resist my charms. I was wearing my silk giraffe-print blouse, after all.
We strolled down Market towards the Ferry Building, stopping to purchase a peanut butter
flavored creme brulee (more or less pudding like, as the container lacked a wide surface area. It was a disappointment). We found a bench behind the Ferry Building and watched the Mendocino ferry come and go. The sky was nothing but an arc of blue, and the sailboats were out and about–we happened to see the Oracle yacht cross the waters in front of us. A few hopeful seagulls approached us, but hopped off when not a single cracker was proffered.
A note here that San Francisco has the ugliest, gnarliest pigeons I’ve ever seen. Every single
one is missing at least one toe. How do pigeons lose their toes with such regularity?! (Likely
answer, per Google: they stand in their own excrement and the subsequent bacterial infection
“bumblefoot” leads to gangrene).
Gangrenous pigeons aside, the first day of March was a good day.