Some days the wind is up, the shift runs long, and I eat whatever is left. I do not journal. I do not walk. I do not perform a version of health that photographs well.
I used to think a page with this name had to hide those days. It doesn’t. A bad day still counts as living, which is the only honest reading I can stand. The coast is still there. It is usually windy. It is not a retreat I failed to attend.
Nothing here is a streak, a before-and-after, or a reason you should buy anything. If I skipped the morning glass, I skipped it. Products are optional. Weather is not.
Cape Town, on this stretch, is Table View and Big Bay and the pharmacy and the rent. The good life I will sign my name to includes the days that do not look like an advertisement. If a page cannot say that, it is selling a costume. I am not interested.
A bad day still counts as living.