It's March and we're having weather fit for a Summer anywhere other than San Francisco. I should be on my road bike doing the Paradise Loop, getting my ride legs back up to snuff. I should be on my mountain bike getting to know the trails in the Headlands. I should be sitting in Golden Gate Park plunking out Kinks tunes on my guitar. I should be at Zeitgeist out on their outdoor porch with a beer and a book. Why am I not? Indeed, why?

And I'll regret it once the winds switch directions and we get the cold ocean air back. I forget that days like this are abnormal at any time of year, and must be appreciated. And I hate that. All this pressure to appreciate the rare nice weather days we get, which occur days at a time, maybe a week, rarely more than that. Nice to me means getting to around 80 degrees and being able to wear short sleeve shirts outside once the sun goes down.