static in my central cortex.

I'm navigating the aftermath of last week's systems meltdown at work. I'm witnessing some odd and sometimes annoying effects: the initial port-mortem meetings are extremely unfocused. In crisis mode, there was a razor-defined agenda: this is an emergency, we have to do this, and this, and this, immediately. Go forth and do your thing. Now, people are taking the opportunity to address various problems which admittedly need solving, but have nothing to do with the meltdown. While I'm sleeping tonight, I will try to think of an aiki way of refocusing the conversation on our more immediate issues coming out of the crisis.

It's not clear to me what I'm supposed to be working on. Clearly I should be contributing to the post-mortem somehow, but no one seems to be counting on me for it or anything. There's a lot of log data analysis I'm interested in, though, and I think I'm the only one with time for it, so I'll just go ahead and do it until someone says different.

I saw my face in a window on the train and realized I wasn't paying attention and has let the anger take over for a second: it twisted my face, the way I've seen resident anger contort the faces of so many beautiful human beings. If we don't let it pass, it makes us ugly, can make us sick.

I let it go. I am many things, sometimes more than one at a time. They're not all nice or good or useful, but they're all me. Hey, I never get bored.