I now declare that I am going vegan about twice a month, usually after being disturbed by the mistreatment of yet another animal in the mainstream dairy industry. And then I'm at a restaurant and spy a cheese plate on the menu and it even includes Gruyere. Oh Gruyere, you are my weakness. I agonize:
Me 1: Wellllll, there is a chalkboard, exposed wood beams and mason jars. That means the restaurant must be sourcing from happy farms.
Me 2: Sure, because animal welfare is always measured in mason jars.
Me 1: But the vegan option is too expensive.
Me 2: Gotcha. Hey, nice HBO subscription by the way.
I rarely make it past Day 3.
I experienced the same agony after I stole my sister's winter boots last year, and later realized they were made of real fur:
Me 1: But... but, if I don't wear them, who will?
Me 2: Well, my sister, probably.
Me 1: They'll just go to waste.
Me 2: See prior response.
Me 1: But they're so warm.
Me 2: That makes sense. Fur is indeed how animals stay warm.
Some days I pull on the fur boots, chow down on eggs that I'm pretty sure were laid by the most miserable caged hens in America, read about the hunted baby rhinos I cannot protect and the "at-risk" dogs who I will not save from euthanization today, and wonder what's the point in even trying? I know how much I care, yet can't escape how much I seem to have failed - and continue failing - to help many animals, so perhaps I should just opt out...