Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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Building 21 "Metamorphosis"

“I don't think I'll be able to write right soon. Hands are getting numb. Mind is getting foggy. They're calling for me. On the way home I was so focused on remembering to get some milk. I wasn't focusing on the road. It runs along the beach a few blocks from my house. The black thing was just laying there. That thing with blood red eyes...hundreds of them. Car stalled slightly as the thing slipped underneath the car. I stopped immediately, even though I had no idea what I had hit. It kept writhing as I approached it. The tentacles that had torn off were flopping around. And in my head, but not in my head I kept hearing its voice.

“They are only starting to move. It only get's worse from here.”

I had pulled it off the road. I don't think I was thinking clearly. Said it wasn't going to hurt me. That it just wanted to get back to the shallows. It is legion. It must endure. I still don't know how I moved it, considering its size...it said that I shouldn't go home. That was the last thing it said to me.

I sat in the driveway a little bit longer than I expected to. Just trying to get myself ready to face my family. Thirty seconds went by. Then a minute. I still didn't know what I was going to say. I didn't want to think about what I would say. Two minutes. I thought I saw someone move a curtain. They were wondering about me. Wanted to know why I was just sitting in the driveway. They were probably developing theories. But none of them are right. I am tired, but my heart is racing. What was I supposed to say? How could I tell them about my day. Should I have just lied and pretended that everything is alright.

She opened the door and heads down the walk. I heard myself gasp. She was outside my window. My daughter. She was asking me if everything was alright. But I didn't respond. I looked at her, and she smiled with a smile that was too wide for her face. Her skin seeped like oil, her eyes now cold black orbs, her pretty pink dress covered in black. For some reason I though about it all again. About the thing I hit on the way home. How it screamed. How it kept telling me that this was only the start of something terrible.

The Problems With Half-Working

On SEBASTIAN MARSHALL

My mind has been scrambled the last couple days. I don't know why, it came on very suddenly. I've made massive strides over the two weeks before - I accomplished about six months worth of work over two weeks. I felt on top of the world. I wasn't even very tired afterwards, I felt good, ready to go.

Then yesterday, just bzzt - nothing. Foggy, almost like confusion. Couldn't focus at all. Strange. I said, y'know what? I haven't had a day off in a while, I'm just going to take the day off. Went and sat at a cafe and listened to some audio for about four hours, walked around and saw the city, went and had a massage, and then sat and ate fruit. Spend like 10 hours in a row just thinking and relaxing, which is good, I don't take full days off very often. I had some good ideas when I was out at the cafe and took some extensive notes, so I got some production out of it too without even trying to.

Now, I wish I could say, "And then I was recharged, and today I was awesome!" But no, I woke up in a fog again. Damn this. I track my time and have some routines to keep me running well, but I was foggy despite it, unable to focus really. Suck, what is this?

I was working, but it was half-working. Now, half-working is a big problem in my opinion. Half-working tires you out as much or more than real full working, but you get about 5% as much stuff done. Yes, 5%. Good work requires something like focus. It doesn't necessarily require the highest levels of focus and flow (though that stuff is very good), but it requires working through the mentally difficult parts when they come up. The worst part about half-work is you cruise through the easy enough stuff, then stumble on a difficult part.

This is doubly bad, because when you come back to your work, you're staring the hardest part in the face. This sucks, you need to kind of regroup and double down to get re-started while staring a difficult or complex part of work in the face. But again, I was in that mental fog and so I start half-working on it, and then I wander off again. And I try to come back to the work, but then - bam, there's this hard problem staring me right in the face, that I already failed to conquer twice.

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