A remarkable lapse...

So I've been working on a new project (no, not the Craigslist job, thank sweet baby Jesus). This gig requires steady, laser-like attention to a succession of variable details for three to four hour stretches at a time, twice a day. It involves a lot of physical jumping around from one source to another, collecting information, while simultaneously synthesizing that info, making snap decisions about the relevancy of its content, and prepping for the next set of info. It's a brisk and rhythmic process with some fairly analytical backing vocals. Put another way, picture a 21st century techno-literary version of Lucy's chocolate conveyor belt routine and you won't be far off. Ultimately, I am surprised at how satisfying all this concentrated discipline and focus can be. I tend to be more of a macro person. In a word: spacier.

Why am I boring you with this work-a-day review? Because... Once I'm in the throes of a session and have reached a rhythm of maximum efficiency, I'm in a very unique headspace, "flow" some call it, and here's where the magic happens....

An aside: when it comes to brain lateralization, or handedness, all bets are off for me. My left/right wiring was clearly done by a dyslexic mandrill.

So... Yesterday, while moving the mouse with my left hand, (something I usually wouldn't do even though I'm predominantly left-handed) I literally caught myself in the act of writing with my right hand, something I would never do period. I saw it scrawling away out of the corner of my preoccupied eye. So what, you say? So everything, I say back.

The implications are that at least some of the limitations we set for ourselves are enforced by our conscious personality. This must be one way our system copes with chaos, by fixing certain aspects of our consciousness as "identity," so we can get our bearings and get on with it... But who knows what we're really capable of then, if our minds are loaded up with pseudo-imperatives: I'm left handed, I can't sing, that is too much for me to lift, I'm not good at math. Etc. etc. etc.

How can a ninety-pound woman carry a massive air conditioner to the second floor of her home, install it in a window unassisted, and then not remember how it got there? I'll tell you how. She's got a lot on her mind... she forgets her self - her limitations. OK, enough... I'm not going to belabor this too much. Just run with this idea and see how it factors into your own experience. Will ya?