A coffee shop in Southern France. There is a sign advertising that the muffins are made in store. And there are two plastic container trays with muffins in them. I silently accuse the owners of false advertising.
I take my coffee and find a seat. I can see the baking area. There are muffins under the oven. I was quick to judge. The trays were used to store the muffins. It is early in the morning and any muffins for sale now would have been baked yesterday. I am unhappy with my cynicism, the lack of generosity in my thoughts.
Is draining the platform the social media equivalent of draining the swamp? The science needs to move from exploitation to service. A change in the objectives, in what gets measured. All the wonderful mission statements are secondary if everyone is measuring the advertising dollars.
Murky. The whole thing is murky. Incomplete ideas, principles banging up against unknowns. How does it all fit together.
The sprout has moved into her own place. She has a roommate, older, already experienced in living alone. It reassures me that she will have a mentor for life away from home.
Regardless of my wish to appear atypical, the un-helicopter parent talking and treating her like an adult. My thinking she is not ready is oh-so typical.
Part of it feels like a failure to get her ready. Her bad habits, the lack of cleanliness.
I blame her mother and remember that her brother of another mother is at 32 still getting his act together.
I assign genetic origins to her character traits. Messiness is from her mother. Procrastination from her father.
My anxiety has me in a negative mind frame. I force myself to go positive.
She is good at making and executing a plan — like her sister.