Closing in on 10am. Different kinds of tensions in different parts of ones own physical machine. Moving wrists arms neck jaw, feeling and hearing each movement to the bones. A sigh, slightly relieved. And now again for something completely different.
9am. Feeling days cut in random halves, not necessarily aligning with celestial realities. Filtering input for relevant bits and noticing the corresponding bucket remains surprisingly empty. Waiting for the machine to make up its mind. The model doesn't lie but sometimes it utilizes the privilege of being clueless.
Still in between. A flow of patterns leading to ideas but few of them see actually correct. Rewind, reconfigure, retry. At least, no audible grinding of digital gears. Past 9pm and day's still as bright as it managed to be, layers of grey sky above grey city and no more rain in cold air. Sleepy, tense, floating with the songs of voices only heard on the inside. Have a calm night wherever you are.
Somewhere in the afternoon, queueing multiple drafts while waiting for the last pieces of information needed. Eventually stumbling context boundaries, adding the wrong output to the wrong communication. Stopping, wondering, reverting. The fragile speed, the slowness needed for getting things done right.
Knapp vor dem Mittag und immer noch heftige Böen. Manchmal findet man im Stapel der losen Enden eines, dessen Dringlichkeit höher ist als die aller anderen. Und dann plant man sich kurzfristig um dieses Ende herum, mit beherrschbarem Erfolg und der Nervosität des Hochstaplers, fast bereit, in jedem Augenblick enttarnt zu werden. (Durchatmen. Kommunizieren. Eine Linie finden, die den Knäuel in die richtige Richtung verlässt. Dazu Obst und Tee. Für die Stimme, und für die Ruhe in sich. Wenig Sonne im Grau, zu viel Bewegung auf den Fluren.)