En Mi Cabeza
Terribly sorry. Unintentionally long post.
Have you ever started a simple program of thought, then grown distracted and started thinking of something else, only to have the program continue unconsciously in the back of your mind? I first noticed I could do this when I started counting steps one day (I am and have always been easily bored, but easily amused to make up for it). I grew distracted from my counting by another thought, and several minutes later a number surfaced that kept incrementing as I stepped. I’d never shut off the counting program. Of course, now that I was conscious of it and confused by it, it promptly screwed up and I lost track, but it was an interesting phenomenon. The other day it happened again, as I began singing the quadratic equation to myself and then thought about something else. The song continued, and as I had started thinking about DnD, I didn’t notice it again until I got to the “- 4 ac” part, at which point I blinked and wondered why my character would have an AC penalty. Fortunately I realized I was still singing the song in my head.
Sometimes I feel as though I do a similar thing, albeit on a grander scale, when I’m attempting to figure out difficult problems. Most of the time these days I’m thinking about work, my schedule, the next thing I’m going to work on, or things I need or want to do in the future. (Unless I’m on schedule and have nothing to do, in which case I think of things I could do, think about characters, philosophize, or simply daydream.) But none of those are things I’m particularly interested in, I simply don’t have time to consider the bigger problems I want to work on. So I keep those in the back of my mind and touch on them when I have a free moment. I don’t make much progress on them when I’m not actually thinking about them, but I have to believe they’re there, as they pop up at the oddest times. Or, more likely, I’m simply trying to make an odd quirk of multitasking into something more profound.
I do occasionally see things in the light I want them to, particularly when it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. I think everyone does. Occasionally, though, I forget that the way I present myself is the only way people know me. It is strange to be perfectly conscious of the face you present to the world, because it’s almost but not quite lying. The only good thing I can say about my face/shell/mask is that I try to keep it accurate, and most of the inconsistencies come from simply omitting information, which by this point I mostly do instinctively and unintentionally. Part of the reason I have this livejournal is simply so that I’ll remember to share bits of my thoughts, past and personality with people. Otherwise I’d likely forget and stay silent. (As a note, this isn’t completely random. I just found out today that I completely forgot to tell several people about a random, but rare and interesting event from last semester. I’ll catch them up later, probably.)
And finally, because two people requested it, anyway, an old ramble I wrote about changes in seasons who knows how long ago:
Spring here isn’t so much a season as it is a long and arduous transition period. The snow melts, the near-permanent overcast allows cracks of sunlight to slip through without incident, the days start lengthening again, the number of 50 or 60 degree days begin to outnumber the 30s, (though due to a rather odd mix of climates, these will occasionally be right next to each other), and, after a short while, the scent of spring starts playing on the breeze.
Have you ever noticed the distinct smell and flavor of each season as it starts to sneak around the corner? How it could be a mild day in August, with all the trees still green and the earth and sun radiating a soothing warmth, and all of a sudden you’ll catch something, and close your eyes to focus on this seemingly out of place sensation. Fall. It doesn’t have any definable taste, but somehow, in the middle of summer, your mind is filled with thoughts of warm pumpkin pie, burning forests of red and gold, and long, dark nights of mystery. The feeling lingers, though you nod and move on, smiling that deeply contented smile of someone who knows of a particularly pleasant surprise, but thinks she’ll keep it to herself.
They’re all different, of course. The smell of winter is chill and alive, Jack Frost dancing with joy now that he gets to play again. Spring is sweet, green, and innocent, easily overpowered by the ice and fire bordering her. And summer…summer is heavy, scintillating heat and starry skies over foreign places. Each one promises adventure and freedom, causing one’s attention to drift to thoughts of enchantment and magic, journeys to the dark side of the moon, or across an Arabian desert on a magic carpet, or perhaps simply lying on the grass, snow, or leaves, and staring up at the moon with a loved one.
But spring is a bit different at times. When the winter runs long, and the transition to summer moves faster, spring loses its identity. The flavor, the feeling in the air, says not just spring, but also summer. And that mix of rebirth and romance tugs at the heart with longing. The winter jester has ceased to amuse, and the cold and gray skies now bring only misery. There is a freshness coming, and too long from now the trees will bud, the birds will sing, and the sun shall be our constant companion once more. Blue birds, blue skies, sunshine, swing music and new love…. But it is so far away, and beyond it, though not far beyond it, lies summer. Freedom, a chance to do everything you’ve ever dreamed. Road trips, lemonade, fireworks, friendships, pop songs, pools…Excitement and adventure if you only go out and reach for it.
But then, the flavor promises whatever you wish. The truth is rarely so romantic. If only each season was precisely as it should be, and each day held some hint of magic in it. What a life that would be… But it seems such passion lies only in stories, and the world can never achieve such dreams. Perhaps it is impossible. But I am, and have always been, a dreamer. I cannot believe the seasons lie. If I’m filling my world with beautiful stories and hopes of fairytales, at least it’s better than slipping into the void reality tears into your soul. And at least, four times a year, I can smell the air and know with absolute certainty that the future shall be grand.
Remind me to talk about music next time.
Have you ever started a simple program of thought, then grown distracted and started thinking of something else, only to have the program continue unconsciously in the back of your mind? I first noticed I could do this when I started counting steps one day (I am and have always been easily bored, but easily amused to make up for it). I grew distracted from my counting by another thought, and several minutes later a number surfaced that kept incrementing as I stepped. I’d never shut off the counting program. Of course, now that I was conscious of it and confused by it, it promptly screwed up and I lost track, but it was an interesting phenomenon. The other day it happened again, as I began singing the quadratic equation to myself and then thought about something else. The song continued, and as I had started thinking about DnD, I didn’t notice it again until I got to the “- 4 ac” part, at which point I blinked and wondered why my character would have an AC penalty. Fortunately I realized I was still singing the song in my head.
Sometimes I feel as though I do a similar thing, albeit on a grander scale, when I’m attempting to figure out difficult problems. Most of the time these days I’m thinking about work, my schedule, the next thing I’m going to work on, or things I need or want to do in the future. (Unless I’m on schedule and have nothing to do, in which case I think of things I could do, think about characters, philosophize, or simply daydream.) But none of those are things I’m particularly interested in, I simply don’t have time to consider the bigger problems I want to work on. So I keep those in the back of my mind and touch on them when I have a free moment. I don’t make much progress on them when I’m not actually thinking about them, but I have to believe they’re there, as they pop up at the oddest times. Or, more likely, I’m simply trying to make an odd quirk of multitasking into something more profound.
I do occasionally see things in the light I want them to, particularly when it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. I think everyone does. Occasionally, though, I forget that the way I present myself is the only way people know me. It is strange to be perfectly conscious of the face you present to the world, because it’s almost but not quite lying. The only good thing I can say about my face/shell/mask is that I try to keep it accurate, and most of the inconsistencies come from simply omitting information, which by this point I mostly do instinctively and unintentionally. Part of the reason I have this livejournal is simply so that I’ll remember to share bits of my thoughts, past and personality with people. Otherwise I’d likely forget and stay silent. (As a note, this isn’t completely random. I just found out today that I completely forgot to tell several people about a random, but rare and interesting event from last semester. I’ll catch them up later, probably.)
And finally, because two people requested it, anyway, an old ramble I wrote about changes in seasons who knows how long ago:
Spring here isn’t so much a season as it is a long and arduous transition period. The snow melts, the near-permanent overcast allows cracks of sunlight to slip through without incident, the days start lengthening again, the number of 50 or 60 degree days begin to outnumber the 30s, (though due to a rather odd mix of climates, these will occasionally be right next to each other), and, after a short while, the scent of spring starts playing on the breeze.
Have you ever noticed the distinct smell and flavor of each season as it starts to sneak around the corner? How it could be a mild day in August, with all the trees still green and the earth and sun radiating a soothing warmth, and all of a sudden you’ll catch something, and close your eyes to focus on this seemingly out of place sensation. Fall. It doesn’t have any definable taste, but somehow, in the middle of summer, your mind is filled with thoughts of warm pumpkin pie, burning forests of red and gold, and long, dark nights of mystery. The feeling lingers, though you nod and move on, smiling that deeply contented smile of someone who knows of a particularly pleasant surprise, but thinks she’ll keep it to herself.
They’re all different, of course. The smell of winter is chill and alive, Jack Frost dancing with joy now that he gets to play again. Spring is sweet, green, and innocent, easily overpowered by the ice and fire bordering her. And summer…summer is heavy, scintillating heat and starry skies over foreign places. Each one promises adventure and freedom, causing one’s attention to drift to thoughts of enchantment and magic, journeys to the dark side of the moon, or across an Arabian desert on a magic carpet, or perhaps simply lying on the grass, snow, or leaves, and staring up at the moon with a loved one.
But spring is a bit different at times. When the winter runs long, and the transition to summer moves faster, spring loses its identity. The flavor, the feeling in the air, says not just spring, but also summer. And that mix of rebirth and romance tugs at the heart with longing. The winter jester has ceased to amuse, and the cold and gray skies now bring only misery. There is a freshness coming, and too long from now the trees will bud, the birds will sing, and the sun shall be our constant companion once more. Blue birds, blue skies, sunshine, swing music and new love…. But it is so far away, and beyond it, though not far beyond it, lies summer. Freedom, a chance to do everything you’ve ever dreamed. Road trips, lemonade, fireworks, friendships, pop songs, pools…Excitement and adventure if you only go out and reach for it.
But then, the flavor promises whatever you wish. The truth is rarely so romantic. If only each season was precisely as it should be, and each day held some hint of magic in it. What a life that would be… But it seems such passion lies only in stories, and the world can never achieve such dreams. Perhaps it is impossible. But I am, and have always been, a dreamer. I cannot believe the seasons lie. If I’m filling my world with beautiful stories and hopes of fairytales, at least it’s better than slipping into the void reality tears into your soul. And at least, four times a year, I can smell the air and know with absolute certainty that the future shall be grand.
Remind me to talk about music next time.