Between not getting eaten by a mountain lion, the fact that today's 5.35-mile run was easy, the fact that I bowled a 203 tonight (with another five bagger!), nearly matching my 207 of last week, and a bunch of other things, I'm actually having a good week. This hasn't been the case for a while.

Gets me on the topic of superstition. My similarly rationally minded roommate and I had a discussion on superstition. Something on television sparked it. I commented on how John Lennon thought that the number nine had followed him around in life. Me, I've found that the number twelve has done that.

Of course, my rational side recognizes this as bunk. The only reason I notice a pattern of twelves is that the pattern already exists, and if I spent my time searching for other patterns, I'd find something. Our noticing such things is exemplative of our psychological tendency towards superstition.

But still, I notice a pattern making up my good week. It's flawed logic, yes. But it's probably evolutionarily advantageous to make quick associations and theories of causation, even if they're often premature and wrong (yeah, so dancing doesn't bring rain. But eating the wrong plants can kill you).

There's something fatalist about reading into signs and patterns for deeper meaning—totally against my rational nature. But I still find myself doing it.