Melted in Place

That_Damn_Sun_by_GaryStorkamp

Warm. It’s fucking warm and this nasty salty sweat keeps leaking out my hair holes and making me spongy-slick resentful at this fucking world with it’s stupid tilted axis and smug shining dickhole of a sun. I’m sitting in this goddamn chair and my flesh is melting off of my bones and pooling at my feet, with the end result that I end up sunk in deep in front of my computer, an inanimate and strangely flabby skeleton, for hours on end, watching stupid videos on the internet.

This has not been my most productive week, is what I’m trying to say here.

The real problem, though, the real problem is that this ‘oh god it’s too hot’ meme starts to take root in my brain and spread out. Even when I’m not too hot and uncomfortable to think straight – and, make no mistake, I certainly feel that way much of the time right now – I still have the residual belief in my mind that it’s too hot to work, that all I can do is nap and try to cool off and hope to get work done a bit later, with the end result that I am in a holding pattern all day long, just waiting for the temperature to become sufficiently moderated that I can no longer even slightly justify this procrastination.

This happens a lot, and not just to me. First impressions matter: I seem to be talking about that a lot these days. Once ideas take root, they become very difficult to dislodge, even if the premise behind them is no longer justified by available data. Language strengthens this effect by ossifying these ideas into words, and frequently further immortalizing them by uploading them to a server for other people on the global online procrastination network to read and to parrot. This is why releasing a shitty game and patching it to make it not-shitty later is a poor strategy, because even at the point where it has become decent, your fan base will have already become comfortable with their conception of the game as a spectacular failure, and ancient and scouring reviews will have become entrenched, a monument to poor decision making.

The internet is full of such monuments, but when you find one of yours it is an invariably sobering experience.

Heat is making me sticky and I am stuck in place, and my conception of the obstacles facing me begins to supersede the obstacles themselves. Every day I need to take count again to make sure that my eggs aren’t boiled or hatched. That’s probably a clever analogy.

Oh well. I’ve had shitty weeks of shitty days before. I will again. That doesn’t matter. Soon I will be able to think again, and hopefully to think again for long enough to notice that I can think again. Soon my excuses will run out.

Someday I will congeal.

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