Closing in on 4pm. Dropping another stone in todays pond and watching circular waves ripple to its edges. Also: The uncanny experience of receiving calls that haven't been scheduled or agreed on before. A small fly's running across the large display, not stumbling across letters and figures but somehow drawing attention away from what's being written. Clouds breaking.
9pm and on. There are good places for portable computers, bad places and couches in warm rooms. Too, again: The pitfalls of task switching that shaped most of the day still prevail. Just the tasks differ. (Models, procedures and problems carried by long threads of dialogues between the real self and the virtual consciousness. Stepping back a bit, there's a considerably odd and threatening feel to all this, at times.)