Sleep Deprived Philosophy
May. 11th, 2001 12:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lederhosenIt's now nearly one in the morning, and I'm not going to go to bed tonight. If I did, and worked through tomorrow, I'd be all weekend getting back to human just in time to go back to work again on Monday morning. Which I don't want to do. Weekends are the only time I get with my beloved, after all, and I'd rather not be in recovery mode all through them. So instead, I get on with work tonight, and catch the 4 a.m. train home afterwards.
Eeuuurrgh.
But it means Friday to do absolutely nothing of importance, and I need days like that.
And meanwhile, while I wait for 4 am, I babysit the computer again. And since I don't trust myself to analyse the data I have when I'm this tired - I'd probably delete something vital - I shall do something harmless instead: Sleep Deprived Philosophy. If this works, it may become a regular feature of this journal. If it makes sense in the morning, I will be very surprised.
Cities grow by adding new layers. New buildings are built on the debris of old ones. And eventually, those buildings grow old, and more buildings take their place. And the old material stays there forever, more and more compacted under successive layers. The new material comes from without; the old is pushed further and further inwards.
Snakes (and many other creatures) grow by losing layers. When the outer layer no longer fits, they shed it, and a new one emerges from underneath. The new material comes from within, and as it ages it moves outwards until it is discarded.
Hermit crabs take their layers from outside, and return them to the world when they're done with them. As a consequence of which, they can only ever have one layer. If you think about it, you will see why this must be so.
And cowries strip away their innermost layer, and reapply it as the outermost.
So, how do people grow? Do we grow by acquiring new shells, and burying the old ones further and further inside? Or do we grow from the inside, discarding the oldest layers as they cease to be of use to us?
Perhaps we are a mix. I've known one or two hermit crabs. I encountered a lady who borrowed her shells from others, and held onto them until she was forced to give them up, and then went out looking for others with attractive shells to steal. And between those shells, I think she was as lost and as weak as a hermit crab without a shell.
I think I am more like a snake. I grow from the inside; and periodically, I shed the things that no longer seem to matter. But I am not entirely snakelike. Some things grow the other way; some of the things that are important to me started on the surface, and gradually sank in deeper and deeper.
I wonder how other people work.
Eeuuurrgh.
But it means Friday to do absolutely nothing of importance, and I need days like that.
And meanwhile, while I wait for 4 am, I babysit the computer again. And since I don't trust myself to analyse the data I have when I'm this tired - I'd probably delete something vital - I shall do something harmless instead: Sleep Deprived Philosophy. If this works, it may become a regular feature of this journal. If it makes sense in the morning, I will be very surprised.
Cities grow by adding new layers. New buildings are built on the debris of old ones. And eventually, those buildings grow old, and more buildings take their place. And the old material stays there forever, more and more compacted under successive layers. The new material comes from without; the old is pushed further and further inwards.
Snakes (and many other creatures) grow by losing layers. When the outer layer no longer fits, they shed it, and a new one emerges from underneath. The new material comes from within, and as it ages it moves outwards until it is discarded.
Hermit crabs take their layers from outside, and return them to the world when they're done with them. As a consequence of which, they can only ever have one layer. If you think about it, you will see why this must be so.
And cowries strip away their innermost layer, and reapply it as the outermost.
So, how do people grow? Do we grow by acquiring new shells, and burying the old ones further and further inside? Or do we grow from the inside, discarding the oldest layers as they cease to be of use to us?
Perhaps we are a mix. I've known one or two hermit crabs. I encountered a lady who borrowed her shells from others, and held onto them until she was forced to give them up, and then went out looking for others with attractive shells to steal. And between those shells, I think she was as lost and as weak as a hermit crab without a shell.
I think I am more like a snake. I grow from the inside; and periodically, I shed the things that no longer seem to matter. But I am not entirely snakelike. Some things grow the other way; some of the things that are important to me started on the surface, and gradually sank in deeper and deeper.
I wonder how other people work.
Reflections on construction.
Date: 2001-05-10 05:03 pm (UTC)I know I feel better about myself when I handle things snake-wise. Shedding a layer leaves me feeling clean and fresh. Stripping back to the essentials doesn't leave space for the grime of life to bog you down. What always scares me are the hermit crabs and the mollusks (who build layer after layer of shell, getting bigger and heavier and better protected). I've a friend who I quite like who is almost a mollusk. His layer building is quite advanced, to such an extent he's made it his artform and his byword. All that know him joke that he's hard to know. It's silly of me, but it scares me that he does this. He regularly draws peoples attention to it. He's happy to expose his pain, just not to share it. I know it's his business if he wants to be this way, but I keep wondering what it would take to winkle him out of his shell so he can see that he no longer needs it. I sort of feel his comments and hints are in the hope of finding someone who'll care enough to try to help him out. I almost know how, but I'm forever being bitten by people expecting me to become their permanent saviour once I help a little, so I daresn't try.
It is odd the way these things work. I'm scared for the ones with big shells, and feel the skinless raw ones are strong and healthy.
Oh well, enough ramble. If I go on like this I'll have to start a journal of my own.
Keith.
Re: Reflections on construction.
Date: 2001-05-10 07:49 pm (UTC)But layers of personality - a little bit of "hermit crab" isn't so bad, as part of a broader mix. I think we all do that to some extent - slip on that shell to fit in with the crowd we're with (in fact, that's part of the reason I'm doing this LiveJournal stuff in the first place :-) then abandon it when it's no longer appropriate. It's when someone uses a borrowed shell as their only layer, and has nothing of their own underneath, that it gets very unhealthy.