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pseydtonneI had caffeinated coffee this afternoon -- half a cup at 2:30, the other half at 4:30. It worked its magic and got me going. It was also pure Sumatra beans, so it had a very good smell and made me miss unadulterated coffee. However I must stay sane, so this was a one-off.
Now I'm listening to trance or ambient or whatever you call the mix on SomaFM's Space Station. I've been listening to and enjoying this genre of music since college but I still couldn't tell you what defines it other than Strong Bad's rules for techno plus actual tonal qualities and a slightly slower beat.
I was banging away at a training lab issue, creating a thing and taking notes about it. Suddenly it felt like my keyboard was a few storeys away from my eyes. My right hand was itching my eyebrow at that moment, so I thought it was on a ledge high above the fray of the keyboard traffic.
I've been experienced, so I'm not unfamiliar with these kinds of spatial disconnects. I know how to come back from one instantly or allow it to roll, how to work with someone dealing with one, what is really happening versus what I'm conceiving of the event.
One part of me said, "oh cool, free trip!"
Another part said, "you gotta be kidding, from caffeine and space music? Couldn't this happen a couple hours from now, when I'm not trying to finish some work. I've been in this office since 8 and now it's 6."
The next part of me said, "hey, don't get all judgmental. Let's just write this experience down, savor it a little and then finish up the real work."
Then I realized how much more in shape my ego is compared to when I was 17. It's not the master of the house -- it's just mediating desires, keeping the id from setting fires while keeping the superego from starting ice ages of guilt.
P.S.: A few minutes after I finished this post, my right hand decided to pretend it was breakdancing on the table. Some part of me liked the feel of the matte finish on the desk and wanted to play with that. It's nice to have a four-year-old moment, so long as no one's watching and you know it's just the harmless side of neurochemical tics.
P.P.S.: I'd better go home. My right hand is way too interested in feeling the textures of things for me to absorb the manual I'm reading.
Now I'm listening to trance or ambient or whatever you call the mix on SomaFM's Space Station. I've been listening to and enjoying this genre of music since college but I still couldn't tell you what defines it other than Strong Bad's rules for techno plus actual tonal qualities and a slightly slower beat.
I was banging away at a training lab issue, creating a thing and taking notes about it. Suddenly it felt like my keyboard was a few storeys away from my eyes. My right hand was itching my eyebrow at that moment, so I thought it was on a ledge high above the fray of the keyboard traffic.
I've been experienced, so I'm not unfamiliar with these kinds of spatial disconnects. I know how to come back from one instantly or allow it to roll, how to work with someone dealing with one, what is really happening versus what I'm conceiving of the event.
One part of me said, "oh cool, free trip!"
Another part said, "you gotta be kidding, from caffeine and space music? Couldn't this happen a couple hours from now, when I'm not trying to finish some work. I've been in this office since 8 and now it's 6."
The next part of me said, "hey, don't get all judgmental. Let's just write this experience down, savor it a little and then finish up the real work."
Then I realized how much more in shape my ego is compared to when I was 17. It's not the master of the house -- it's just mediating desires, keeping the id from setting fires while keeping the superego from starting ice ages of guilt.
P.S.: A few minutes after I finished this post, my right hand decided to pretend it was breakdancing on the table. Some part of me liked the feel of the matte finish on the desk and wanted to play with that. It's nice to have a four-year-old moment, so long as no one's watching and you know it's just the harmless side of neurochemical tics.
P.P.S.: I'd better go home. My right hand is way too interested in feeling the textures of things for me to absorb the manual I'm reading.
