One of the most bizarre things I find about San Francisco is that it has ruins. This isn't so strange in New England, less so in Europe, where settlement over several centuries is bound to leave the corpses of buildings about, waiting to disintegrate. But while San Francisco was first settled by the Spanish in 1776 (I'm learning this as I go along), most of the ruins are fairly recent, like the Sutro Baths, opened in 1896 but only really destroyed in 1966. Or if you walk along Ocean Beach south from Lincoln Avenue (which runs east-west at the bottom of Golden Gate Park, for those of you following along at home), you encounter giant blocks of concrete in various shapes, remnants of...who knows what? Artillery batteries, parking lots, weather stations. No idea.
I've had the same headache since Sunday. Thankfully pretty low-level, but still. Varying levels of food, caffeine, and water seem to have no effect, so I figure it's an emotional or body-alignment thing.
No, things aren't perfect; but there's nothing wrong, either. Things just are, and if I look the right way I can see the world shimmer.