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Philosopher Selfie // Week 2

Week 2 of the Philosopher Selfie:

Mon. Feb 3 / On pain

Pain is such a unique, individual human experience because you never know how it feels in someone else’s brain or body. For me, the worst pains are the ones that I don’t have the power or ability to change or control: the 24-hour day and/or time warp, that I can’t converse with whales, history in general, nuclear power, people with no sense of humour, super powers, unrequited love (not necessarily in that order).

Tues. Feb 4 / On the warmth of bed

Sometimes getting out of bed is accomplishment enough for the day, and my reward should be that I get to crawl right back in.

Wed. Feb 5 / On secrets

What is it about humans and secrets? I mean good ones, like finding a secret spot on the 28th floor of a building. This happy glow fuzzes up in your chest, even though you know that it’s not really secret: your adult common sense says, “C’mon Sarah, someone built this pool and hot tub, they made the windows and the view, people probably come in here all the time.” But I imagine it empty and only mine, although still somehow clean, warm and stocked with fresh towels. Being in my imagination is like being a billionaire with a really good butler.

Thurs. Feb 6 / On the link between technology and massages

Once I’ve managed to get out of the cocoon that I call my bed and start doing something awake people do – like make breakfast or put on slippers – at that point when I’ve opened the windows and my brain has woken up, the day can seem orderly: straightforward. I start doing things and feeling pretty good about it. BUT THEN. One of those many modern interruptions that we call “progress” disrupts me and adds something to my list. And then draws my attention to another task just when I’m finally getting into the meat of another project. Or just bleeps at me one too BLEEPING many times. And just like that my brain melts and I throw up my hands and book a massage.

Fri. Feb 6 / PMS

Sometimes you try to do things in a hurry, quick, quick, rush, rush, but you are STILL late, you STILL miss the thing and it’s dark and fucking cold outside and finally you give up and put on fuzzy pants and watch Sex in the City.

Sat. Feb 7 / On distraction

Some types of distraction are like being followed by the scent of something delicious. You walk quickly – with determined purpose – away from it, making the scent grow fainter and you’ve almost succeeded in forgetting about it until the scent bumps into you, and trust me, it always does. And then suddenly you’re like a woman in a room full of iceberg lettuce with one single giant piece of raspberry chocolate. And you want to pay attention to the nice icebergs but ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS THAT DAMN CHOCOLATE.

Sun. Feb 8 / On the link between inactivity and inspiration

If you count sleep hours, I have these incredibly lazy days, like 23.5 hours of extreme laziness. Sundays where I decide it’s too much work to stop by next door for a latte and I eat bananas and almond butter all day because that’s all I have in my apartment. And then in that last half hour: magic. And I wonder – would those 30 minutes of inspiration have been possible without the 23.5 hours of inactivity that preceded it?

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