Woke up this morning feeling like absolute death — the kind of hangover that makes everything feel heavier. The strange part? I haven’t touched alcohol in weekd. Must be the stress, the weather, or just life collecting its debts.
I was looking forward to a simple breakfast: a little tuna salad on a tortilla. Nothing fancy, but after the rough start it sounded perfect. I turned my back for one second to pour the tuna juice into a bowl next to the cats’ food bowl. When I turned around, my big yellow Persian had already claimed the prize. Two cans of tuna — ruined in seconds.
Tuna isn’t cheap these days, and I had genuinely been looking forward to that meal. Instead I got nothing, and both cats bolted out the door to avoid my wrath.
I ended up choking down some random leftovers from the fridge, cleaned up the mess, and headed to work. There’s a brief gap in this endless train of typhoons and tropical storms today, so I figured I’d better use it.
To survive the morning and put on my enthusiastic face for two government delegations visiting, I knew I’d need a Red Bull. Possibly two.
Last week I spoke at a university conference on Urban Mining — recovering value from waste. During the closing remarks, the main funder of the event turned the cameras off and gave the activists in the room some straight talk. He told them to stop playing around, organize themselves like a real business, take it seriously, and start sending him plastic to recycle so he doesn’t have to keep importing it from Malaysia.
It was blunt, but it landed. Good intentions don’t build systems. Whether it’s cleaning up after a cat or building something that actually works at scale, sometimes you just have to fix your shit and deliver.
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