Little blips, these are. Reflex blips of suggestion, metaphor. All coming back to what concerns one.
Once homovegetarian was deciding on our superhero identities, and she said (before laughing with big pleasure at the aptness of the idea) that I'm The Ruminator. That sure didn't seem like a very cool superhero to be. And what would the costume look like? Should it even have a cape? There's how the whole cape thing works within the superhero milieu that would have to be contended with, and that'd be only the beginning. Imagine even the tip of the iceberg of addressing the various questions of color and texture... Holy muh-freakin'-oly.
An article in yesterday's NY Times kercov linked to today talks depression in terms of the left ventrolateral prefrontal cortex and mental focus, associating the ability to concentrate attention with rumination, contrasting the skill referenced with the opposite, the AD(H)D scattered inability to focus. But when you're a superhero-quality ruminator, you know there's loopy depressive thinking that's not the other end of that spectrum. You don't doubt that there's something superdooper about the ding-dong left ventrolateral prefrontal cortex involved, but (at least the depressive part of) you can't see it as some advantage of single-focus obsession, cuz it don't work that way.
Of course you're only up to page 3 of 7, and lucky to have gotten that much in.
It's almost the end of a 4-day snow-day workweek that has asked of me some major (and nimble) attention to multiple priorities that are higher priorities than the av-er-age bear of a workplace priority, for me. I swear I could pass out if I just let myself. Really glad it's denouement now, and quiet up in here, with yet another light blowy snow going on out in the world, and that I'm just a few hours now from walking out into that.