No data, human!
Data-entry fields compel me to enter data. Accurate data, especially.
Between my CoolRunning log's distances and durations, LibraryThing's date-acquired, date-started, and date-completed, Weight Watchers' points tracking, LJ's tags, my special-purpose notebooks, budget tracking, timesheet logging... I become frozen into inaction.
I mean, I'm stressing about how long it takes me to finish a book and wondering if I can track some kind of off-set when I get diverted and slip in a book before finishing another. This isn't corporate finance! Nobody's looking at my stupid LibraryThing dates! Ugh.
Where I've chosen to attack this problem is with running. (The LibraryThing neurosis will have to wait for another day. And my security blanket.) Running. Do you know why I stopped running? The real reason?
There's construction all around my neighborhood. (We're getting a city sewer system, which I think makes me happy.) Because of the construction, I have to change my course, repeatedly, on the fly. I am a terrible navigator, so there is a little chance of my getting lost, but the more likely outcome is that I just won't remember quite where I ran. Who cares, right? But there's a data-entry field for distance on the running log. And the only way I can know the distance is to mem-o-rize my route, and then trace it out in Gmaps Pedometer. With the constant course corrections, I have no hope of remembering my route, so I can't enter a distance into the log, and this really stresses me out.
Define: pathology.
So today I went for a run. I don't know how far. I don't really know how long. I listened to This American Life on my iPod. I walked for a little while in the middle. I really enjoyed the radio program, and I enjoyed running. I'm not going to enter it in anybody's log. This run was just for me.
It was grand.
And now I'm going to tag this post as "running," for consistency. One day at a time, friends. One day at a time.
Between my CoolRunning log's distances and durations, LibraryThing's date-acquired, date-started, and date-completed, Weight Watchers' points tracking, LJ's tags, my special-purpose notebooks, budget tracking, timesheet logging... I become frozen into inaction.
I mean, I'm stressing about how long it takes me to finish a book and wondering if I can track some kind of off-set when I get diverted and slip in a book before finishing another. This isn't corporate finance! Nobody's looking at my stupid LibraryThing dates! Ugh.
Where I've chosen to attack this problem is with running. (The LibraryThing neurosis will have to wait for another day. And my security blanket.) Running. Do you know why I stopped running? The real reason?
There's construction all around my neighborhood. (We're getting a city sewer system, which I think makes me happy.) Because of the construction, I have to change my course, repeatedly, on the fly. I am a terrible navigator, so there is a little chance of my getting lost, but the more likely outcome is that I just won't remember quite where I ran. Who cares, right? But there's a data-entry field for distance on the running log. And the only way I can know the distance is to mem-o-rize my route, and then trace it out in Gmaps Pedometer. With the constant course corrections, I have no hope of remembering my route, so I can't enter a distance into the log, and this really stresses me out.
Define: pathology.
So today I went for a run. I don't know how far. I don't really know how long. I listened to This American Life on my iPod. I walked for a little while in the middle. I really enjoyed the radio program, and I enjoyed running. I'm not going to enter it in anybody's log. This run was just for me.
It was grand.
And now I'm going to tag this post as "running," for consistency. One day at a time, friends. One day at a time.