Well, the experiment ended in success in that I stayed offline for two days, but I think it failed because I didn’t gain any new insight.
Month: December 2009
I’m going to try to spend the next 48 hours offline. No e-mail, no www, no VoIP, nothing. We’ll see how long I last.
If I cheat, I might actually finish my first book by the end of this year! Trouble is, if I cheat, I can’t really show it to anyone.
Tossing out a bucket of lukewarm water onto the footpath outside your home to clear it of snow is a wonderful idea.
Ice cream makes you skinny.
Twisty cuffs
Just to be clear, I’ve been thinking about some silly fun things too. Like how one goes about solving interesting equations on weird domains!
The possibility matrix
I kinda like it here at the university. After being away from one for over a year now, I realise how much I’ve missed the fascinatingly varied talks, the thought-provoking conversations, the dauntingly-large libraries, … the scholarly atmosphere in general.
Being here at Cambridge has given me a lot of time to ponder. Unfortunately, I’ve squandered much of this time obsessing over decisions regarding my future. You see, I have about 6–7 months ’til the completion of my contract in Scandinavia, and people keep asking me what I plan on doing next. The fact that I haven’t a clue sometimes makes me feel like a free spirit, but more often than not, the thought terrifies me. There are so many dimensions and angles to this quandary, it quickly overwhelms me every time I start to think about it. Perhaps things will be clearer when presented in the form of my possibility matrix.
Please please please jump in with any ideas that you have.
| What↓ Where→ | Continue in Scandinavia? | Return to the U.S.? | Return to India? | Explore options elsewhere? |
|---|---|---|---|---|
|
||||
| Work hard1 | Feasible | Feasible | Feasible | Feasible |
| Rely on nepotism | Nontrivial | Feasible | Feasible | Don’t know anyone |
| Quit life entirely2 | Can’t afford | Won’t allow | Feasible | Won’t allow |
My possibility matrix
As I’ve said before, I really like choice. I hate choosing.
Alongside the table, I’ve also started to catalogue forty-two specific options for the future. As a first for this journal, the page that lists these options is password protected. You need to e-mail me for access if you really want to see it. I’m sorry, but that’s just the way it has to be.
The result was me having perhaps the best meal I’ve ever had.
Walking home famished at some ungodly hour, I reluctantly forced myself into a seedy kebab place tucked away in the shadiest of alleyways.
Every year they say it’s global warming, but then three months later it gets cold again.
Made my first ever bid at an art auction yesterday! Too bad the bidding reached my threshold in a few seconds, forcing my quick bow out.
What the deuce?
I’ve been spending these past days discussing art history and poetry, and I am now invited to a couple of art auctions? What the deuce?
A stranger I ran into on the street sounded remarkably similar to someone else I used to know. And I mean ridiculously, remarkably similar. The same mousy demeanour, the same accent, identical vocabulary, everything. So I did something a younger me wouldn’t have even contemplated: I rudely walked up to her and asked her if she knew this other woman.
Turns out she did; they were sisters! What the deuce?
A day or so before I left Oslo, my favourite pair of shoes completely fell apart. And I mean utterly, completely fell apart. The nature of the failure was very strange, but “No worries,” I told myself, and packed a pair of sturdy boots for my trip.
I show up here, and within a couple of days of walking around town, my “sturdy” boots fall apart too. Rubber and leather and metal (how the hell have I ever gotten on a plane with these things?) everywhere.
Has my gait changed so much these past days? What the deuce?
I don’t know what’s gotten into people around, but they keep trying to set me up with this Danish girl. Granted she’s really cute and fun to hang out with, but why are these guys pushing so hard? Is there something about turning older that brings out the inner matchmakers in women? What the deuce?