3pm. No service, no accounts, no connection. A few moments for the voice to recover, for the mind to refocus, for the old context to be gradually swapped and the new one loaded. Human mind not working like a machine but certain patterns seem all too familiar. That uncanny seconds until names, faces and roles match again. Hazy lights cloudy horizon.
Closing in on 11am. The subtext of difficult conversations. The muddy informal grounds ouside the agreed-upon playing field. A few lines more added to minutes, much more grave than a few lines more added to a segment of code. Bright sky, pale light.
(Aus der schwierigen Jugend von damals sind die schwierigen Alten von heute geworden, und man verliert sich wieder in unbequemen Sichten auf Demographie, eigene Echokammern und der Wahrnehmung, dass die lauten Gespräche ganz selten die sind, die versöhnen und bereichern. Der Ton der Schlagzeilen, die lang gesäte Ausweglosigkeit. Berechtigter Frust, übersehene Privilegien. Und der Versuch des Grabens um die eigene Burg.)
The morning, too: Facts in twilight and elephants in old rooms. Not enough corners for each of them. And the challenges of digging through confusion to find some undisputable common ground.
Close to noon, both being too fast and too slow through the morning once more. Layers of communication, resolving mismatches, pondering and observing the human kind of protocols for inter-person exchange and at the same time feeling weird for even being into this kind of terminology. Nonformal languages. There's always enough grey in between everything.