11am and on. Sitting between chairs, holding a lot of different tools, but they all seem inappropriate. Also, the unpleasant effect of things changing behaviour on closer look, driven by factors invisible to eye and monitoring. Navigating a wide array of likely breakages, randomly recombined every other moment. Trying to focus dancing particles of dust, staring elsewhere then and now to avoid feeling all too dizzy. No model answers, no better ideas. So it proceeds.
Close to 11am and on. Lost between languages and time zones - feeling like wrestling the same dull issues over and over again. And the model decided to stay offline for the morning. Maybe it doesn't make things much worse, though, maybe one day there's the insight that the best thing about talking to language models is training the individual skill to describe problems to others in a somewhat concise textual representation. (Having another hot coffee, pouring away half a cold cup. Forgetting to actually drink has an interesting effect on daily caffeine statistics as well as daily personal shape. No clouds in that day, just a dense soup of bright white light.)
Close to 11am again. And the interesting sensation of how daily task lists looks like, after having gone through the first calls. Moving on fast, leaving behind a trail of poorly scribbled notes, odd grammar and write-only references that become impossible to decypher almost immediately. (Too many tabs open. Both literally and metaphorically. At least, more coffee is still an option today to stay within some usable comfort zone. Letting some autumn wave through the home office, to reconnect with things a bit again. More clouds than sun, by now.)
Dann bleibt der Tag ein strömender Fluss, mit kurzen Unterbrechungen, und Wiederansetzen an anderer Stelle. Immer wieder hilft ein kurzer Schritt aus dem Fokus, um neue Sichten zu gewinnen und in neue Richtungen zu denken. Und es beginnt zu regnen, wie nicht bestellt, zur unpassendsten Stunde am unpassendsten Tag der Woche. (Also wieder: Kaffee kochen, dem Wind in den Ästen zuhören. Warten, dass der letzte Code seine Wirkung tut, dass sich der Geist vom Ausflug in die tropfnasse Welt wieder einfindet und alles in einem Takt einschwingt, der trägt bis in die Zeit, in der der trübe Himmel wieder aufgerissen, wieder lichter geworden ist.)
(Getting up early enough, taking a breath at 8am already feels like noon. Not really listening to the voices in the street, but the sounds making it through the open window feel vivid and in a way very comfortable. Not yet completely lost within the trails of the day, contemplating more coffee and how to align all of the upcoming blocks to not waste too much time in between. But then again, is spare time ever wasted?)
2pm, almost. Blinds flapping in autumn winds. Dancing spots of sun on the office floor. Kitchen mood, another coffee, some long-standing checkboxes ticked. Sometimes, half an hour of hands-on work trump two days of communication, despite being against the idea of the process. (Still moving. More to come.)
10am and going. Too: Getting completely lost discussing a concept like physical weight of data. Not sure where to even start explaining. Or pondering this. Maybe the model knows, maybe it will make confusion even worse. Learnt, elsewhere: Writing e-mails addressing a huge crowd and not speaking to anyone in particular and directly is a good way of not getting meaningful responses, too. (Not sure whether, today, trying to reduce caffeine consumption really makes any sense.)
Später: Apfelkuchen und Passivrauch. Dazu Mineralwasser aus der großen grünen Flasche, um dem Koffein und seiner wunden Nervosität entgegenzuwirken. Die Terrasse ist kühl und windig unter hohem Betondach, durch dessen Ritzen warme Sonnenschwerter schneiden. Nebenan treffen sich Grüppchen von Büro-Uniformierten am Fahrstuhl, jeder umgeben von einer verstörenden Aura aus Geltungsdrang, Egozentrik und Unsicherheit. Unten plätschert derweil der Springbrunnen vor sich hin, Anforderungen für den Nachmittag ordnen sich in einer chaotischen Warteschlange, der Kalender füllt seine Lücken. Immer weiter im Text - die Frage ist nur: In welchem?