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My goal for the day is to get my couch to coop conversion to its next level. The current chicken accommodations in my suburban back yard are far from adequate. The eco-system in my half acre lot is far from diverse enough to expect the chickens to find what they need to survive on their own, even in the gentle winters of Central Texas. Sunday's chick coop disaster proved that to my satisfaction.
The biggest obstacle to that goal is my own "brain freeze." The puppets in my head keep criticizing every hammer stroke with a Living Color array of creative criticisms. The resulting head noise is paralyzing. Lately I have come to call this particular brain freeze, "Performance Anxiety." My engineering career has run the gamut of the first political outcry of a 10 year old girl in a 1964 gifted math and science program to the anxiety of having an entire commercial construction site fall silent just to watch little ol' me walk across the job site with my tool box. Gee. . . Why can't you pay that much attention to me when I strap on my guitar? ? ? Since when are performance arts part of blue collar training?
I am still pretty compulsive about trying to use my logical processes to get past this brain freeze. I concluded, long ago, that it is not logical to use logic on illogical phenomena, but . . . Here I go, spinning my wheels in the logic mud again. . . How can I analyze this puppet show into logical behavior?
This morning's meditation on the subject yielded an image of three piles of granular powders. Marked, "Sugar," "Salt," and "Boric Acid." All three piles look the same. They sure produce different reactions in a chemical equation.
Hm-m-m-m. . .
Could it be that an effective logical process is reliant on accurate data?
Don't worry if this makes no sense, whatsoever, to you. Just sorting through some very illogical obstacles to my goal for the day.
Thanks for the ramble space. Time to unload the materials I bought last night.
The biggest obstacle to that goal is my own "brain freeze." The puppets in my head keep criticizing every hammer stroke with a Living Color array of creative criticisms. The resulting head noise is paralyzing. Lately I have come to call this particular brain freeze, "Performance Anxiety." My engineering career has run the gamut of the first political outcry of a 10 year old girl in a 1964 gifted math and science program to the anxiety of having an entire commercial construction site fall silent just to watch little ol' me walk across the job site with my tool box. Gee. . . Why can't you pay that much attention to me when I strap on my guitar? ? ? Since when are performance arts part of blue collar training?
I am still pretty compulsive about trying to use my logical processes to get past this brain freeze. I concluded, long ago, that it is not logical to use logic on illogical phenomena, but . . . Here I go, spinning my wheels in the logic mud again. . . How can I analyze this puppet show into logical behavior?
This morning's meditation on the subject yielded an image of three piles of granular powders. Marked, "Sugar," "Salt," and "Boric Acid." All three piles look the same. They sure produce different reactions in a chemical equation.
Hm-m-m-m. . .
Could it be that an effective logical process is reliant on accurate data?
Don't worry if this makes no sense, whatsoever, to you. Just sorting through some very illogical obstacles to my goal for the day.
Thanks for the ramble space. Time to unload the materials I bought last night.
At first glance, yes, so similar.... And yet....
Oh yes, the Greek chorus of You Do it Wrong in my head makes the Cassandra warnings of Trojan War seem mild. Doom Doom Despair And Agony on Me, Hopeless Desperation Is the Place For Me.... (I'm quoting a country song but I don't know which one...)
Here's the thing that gets me through. The time my dad, with plans and experience and so on, built the Perfect Dog House.... And the dog wouldn't get near it for love, money, or beef treats. It was perfect for *dad*, not the dog.
I doubt the hens will care if you need to caulk a gap or sand a few edges or it turns out to have a slightly slanted floor or wall. So maybe.... Try getting the Logic Illogic Logic out of your head by thinking like a hen, and not a human?
I know that's weird, but the dog loved the doghouse we built after we considered the *dog*'s POV. OK, I did. I got on all fours and viewed the matter from the dog's level. I was weird that way. I still am. But hey, human logic wasn't working. Human perfectionism wasn't working. Not for the dog, anyway. And the dog was the point.
My own odd ramble on animals, logic, and so forth.
Support as your sort, measure, cut, nail, and so on.