now you’ve got her attention
All I’m doing these days is waking up at 4 a.m. to the streetlight shining into my new window, and trying to get some perspective on my life or life in general, which is exactly what perspective on your own life is: life in general.
The fine weather makes me happier, at least in the mornings, when things seem if not probable then at least possible, and the 3 p.m. drowsiness isn’t even a dream, and I haven’t eaten my 16th mint from the large vase near my desk at work that is inextricably filled with wintergreen lifesavers. I have been telling myself that mood should not be contingent on the weather, but am having a hard time committing. So fun to be the person who makes these rules, so ridiculous to be the one who follows them.
Walking into my new apartment, which is only one floor below my old apartment, but a world away, I am struck by the idea that San Francisco is like Marilyn Monroe: if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best. That’s rather good I think, I should write that down, and I do. Several times.
Jack White told me that opportunity kills creativity and I think he’s right. There was never a thing that was limitless that I wanted. The only rule was no wishing for more wishes. It is the constraints that make it sweet.
It’s spring again in San Francisco. No small victory.