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So of course this is half-baked shower thoughts, because that's how these things come out, and I'm trying to get to bed. Starting points: Snow Crash, that drawn-out conversation(s) I had with iroshi about mutual brain function and levels of conscious awareness, that video I watched of that woman trying to boil water, the fact that while I'm smart I only consider myself average because I hang out with a bunch of very very smart people, and also the fact that when I'm very very tired I will zombie around with little self-awareness and need to be forcibly put back on track unless I'm caught in a routine, and then the routine carries me through, and it's easier to go through it than break out of it if I'm that tired. (Literally, it's less effort to take a complete shower when going to bed than just go and undress in the bathroom.)

And it makes sense that someone who is aware of deeper levels of thought would have more trouble forming useful daily routines.

And someday maybe people will write and sell software for the human brain/body: how to make bread. How to shower. How to ride a horse. And if you can just install that package and trigger it, and it'll have to be fully error trapped oh god oh god oh god, that would be easier than having to remember all the steps, and learn it yourself.

And maybe some of it is a broken self-programming module? I have a pretty decent self-programming module. But I know when I'm tired I'm essentially a zombie, and I get sucked into deceptively complex and not easily broken routines. Like the check-email-check-lj-answer-anything-relevant-then-shower routine. I look fully conscious and awake. I'm not aware of time passing. Fun times.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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