It would be nice, I think, as the counter ticks 14:51 on its way to zero, to have a session at the start of each day to calibrate the mind, the mood, set the proper tone, remember to be grateful for the many gifts given for free when you open your eyes.  Auto-focus, in a word.  I know people who begin with meditation, or a religious ritual.  I think these are probably good ideas, though the results are mixed.  On the other hand, these guys might be much more nervous, or distracted, without their daily auto-focus sessions.

I mean, if you think about it for even a second, we are still hard-wired to run from predators.  Predators come in every shape and size and our reflexes are designed to twitch us instantly away from danger.  We are tuned to existential threats, and eventually, every life succumbs to one threat or another, no matter our level of vigilance.   The odds are against a focused, calm mind, for any of us.  

I need only scan the sides of this computer screen to survey the odds.  Yes, a clean desk is the sign of an empty mind as often as not, but still.   Beside a bit of dusty metro shelving, between the couch and the wall, we have a five foot pile of file boxes, covered with a dusty tarp and unopened for perhaps five or six years.  Next to them, an expired fax machine, duffle bag with broken zipper (and lifetime warranty, waiting to be sent back for its replacement), expired printer, boxed piece of crap computer guitar/keyboard/mic interface that never fucking worked and cost a lot of money, on top of that glossy box advertising “legendary tone” (the merciless pricks) a pile of beautifully colored foam rectangles, for occasional home animation use.  

Moving toward the computer screen things take a precipitous turn for the worse.  I will spare you a description of the devastation there on the desk top.  An immense tangle of papers, wires, books, headphones, devices, metal cups, sheet music, drawing pads– my goodness, what is that sock doing there?  It seems I did not spare you a description.  I am still surveying the horror of it.  There’s a plastic yogurt container top, clean, but, I mean, what the fuck?  

I had a productive day yesterday, pushing this immense rock several feet up the slippery hill I’ve been straining against for the last year.  I am steady on my legs, riding the bike four out of seven nights a week the last four weeks.  But I can no longer ignore the obvious (ah, I probably can…)– it will help my concentration to organize some of the chaos around me.  

On the other hand, with only fourteen seconds left now and the alarming buzzer about to sound, what can I really say?