Since I do not have to be at work until 09:00 (instead of the 07:00 I’ve been doing) I get up at 06:30 instead of 04:30. I like the change. It is still early in the morning and yet not so early as to seem crazy. 6:30 is a good time to get up. This morning I woke up and was slow in moving. I wasn’t sleepy, wasn’t tired, just very lethargic and several times the thought of putting off my Wednesday workout until after work crossed my mind. But I knew better than this. Yesterday I missed my cardio workout because I was running late for work. When I got home I didn’t really want to go and instead I FINALLY watched the DVD “Reservoir Dogs”. Pretty good movie.
The night before I couldn’t get to sleep because I had a vivid imagination. I could see… actually walk around inside an imaginary home of my own creation. It was no ordinary home, it was all the features that I find comforting now, combined with all the features I wanted as a kid. A round tower on a corner, a moat (yes… a moat), stone, sleek wood, a water fall. But again this was vivid, and it was not a dream… I was desperately trying to go to sleep yet this house kept creeping into my thoughts and I would walk around it, looking at the unique design. It was so simple, elegant, and to my appeal that I almost got up and sketched it on a pad of paper. Right now, two days later the images are a bit fuzzy but I have the gist in my head.
Last night I had a dream. I was a swimmer in competition. All I can remember of the dream are the parts of myself in the water. My first race was not good because there were great differences between my strokes from my left and right arm. I didn’t have a good rhythym or “feel” for the movements and I didn’t have my breathing mechanics down. I got beat. Yet over and over again I kept racing in the dream, and in each dream I showed improvement. I had a coach in the dream but I can’t remember a face. I think it was a late middle aged man. I finally felt my arms equal out in power, stroke, and movement and I could tell a difference in my movement in the water. It was a pretty nifty dream.
The last thing I read before I turned the lights off was some of the book “A Shattered Mind” (a book written by a neurologist on case studies of patients with brain damage) about the condition known as pure alexia. Very fascinating. Pure alexia is the inabilty to read letters. But here is the weird part, you can still read numbers and understand symbols. The alexic can understand DIX to be the roman numeral for whatever it is (three hundred and nineteen?) but cannot understand it as “diks”. The alexic can write a note to somebody, but could not read his own handwriting. Fascinating.
Coming back from the gym I had some thoughts on my last entry and diagram of thoughts. These thoughts lead, as they usually do, into other areas. I can remember a research project four of us did in a cognition class. We each had to come up with around 4 research articles and summarize them as they pertained to the specific subject in the lecture of the class. My part was Implicit and Explicit memory. While the other students looked up their four articles, usually taken from a total of 8 from each person (the best selected), I must have looked up over twenty articles from a variety of sources. I spent so much time on this project that my school work in everything else suffered. It was all that I read, and re-read, and pondered. I could not put it all together (the theories are new in cognition and so have many avenues of investigation). The night the four of us got together to put the works together into one presentation I was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling. The others kept telling me to write something and I said that I was still wrestling with it. I could not, would not, just write something. This was my chosen field and I would not just coast through… I would contribute. Slowly… a thread began to appear and the many weak connections between thoughts, some dropped off and others grew stronger until I had a definite pattern in my mind. With an “ah-ha” I had it and I wrote my portion of the report. When I gave my part of the lecture, I used an in-class example (I was sneaky) and I also offered a dissenting viewpoint citing my reasons and backed them up for my opinion. We got an A and the professor publicly told the class to not be afraid to disagree with a theory or research as I had done. It was a high day for me.
That was almost three years ago and I’ve been absent from the field since. The reason I write this down now is that this was not a historical note for me, but an analogy used by my mind on my walk home in thinking of something else. I cannot remember what that other point was, so I record the part I can remember.
When I get home tonight I’ve got reading to do…