heart/head

 

I received a gift today (thank you, Griffin) that reminded me of the fact that there are things you measure with your heart, and things you measure with your head. I am something of a connoisseur in this department, so allow me to guide you through all you will ever need to know about measuring moments in your life. 

I was making pasta sauce. Trust me, I would never eat an entire raw diced onion.

Firstly, when baking, you must never measure with your heart. If you do, your muffins will look like the following image and you will have a breakdown in front of the oven, begging them to stop deflating while they ruthlessly become muff-ins and not muff-outs. The muff-in, while suitable for eating ice cream out of at two in the morning, is not impressive to present to your writing cohort. 

muff-ins and muff-outs

However, when cooking, you should use your heart – it gives your food soul, it gives your food depth, and it makes cooking an emotionally enriching activity. 

When measuring alcohol, I often measure with my heart. I do this for mixed drinks as well as glasses of wine. This is a mistake. Do not be like me. Measure with your head, and your future self will thank you. Similarly, the alcohol to water ratio is quite simple: a cup of water per drink. Your future self will thank you. 

How many tiny plastic babies can you hide around the classroom where you meet for workshop? Measure with your heart, and then add two or three to account for the babies that will inevitably be carried off by those who find them. They bring joy – and a creeping sense of horror – to all who find them. Don’t be afraid to be linked to the scene of a crime. 

The distance that you can walk in a day should be measured with your head. That is to say, look at a map and actually plot out your journey. Leave earlier then you think you need; there will be tourists that stop you to ask for directions. The city is surprisingly hilly and, on a windy day, you will be fighting with the elements. 

Imagine, for a moment, that you’re engaged in a pleasant game of “Find the Baby” with your flatmate. Where can the baby be hidden? Your heart will tell you that a dangerous place, such as a box of off-brand Cocoa Puffs, is the best place, even if your head is concerned that maybe your flatmate will choke to death on a tiny plastic baby while you’re out of the flat and the coroner’s report will be the puzzled statement that: “She choked to death on a tiny plastic baby.” 

When faced with the arrival of your self-assigned nemesis in the postgrad study room, use your heart to decide what volume is appropriate for speaking. There’s a sweet spot, where she’s aware that you’re conversing with friends yet unable to make out individual words. Too quiet, and she won’t be bothered; too loud, and she’ll refer to the email sent out three weeks ago advising that while quiet conversation is allowed, speaking too loudly is disruptive to a productive study environment. Your heart will tell you the appropriate volume. 

The length of a shower is more complex. If you live somewhere drought-stricken, measure with your head, even if mega-corporations and agricultural inefficiency are to blame for water restrictions. Five minutes or less will do. If you live somewhere where water is in greater abundance, the length of your shower can be measured with your heart; just be aware that blasting music while you do so will be commented on by your neighbours, and not always fondly. 

Follow your heart on how long you should sit in front of the SAD lamp. Bask in the cosy glow. You are, after all, descended from lizards. It’s only natural that you should enjoy your own human-rated UV lamp. Embrace your inner lizard-person. Enjoy the tiny sun you’ve set on your desk. 

the SAD lamp is a beacon in the dark

If you decide to play Minecraft, measure the time spent with your head. Ask yourself, “Have I finished all of my readings for this week’s seminar?” If the answer is no (and believe me, it very well may be no), close Minecraft and finish the readings first. Better yet, find an audio version of the readings and listen while you play Minecraft. This is called multitasking, and it’s essential for a good work-life balance. 

At night, before bed, you should measure the cups of tea with your head – but the honey with your heart. Too much tea, and you’ll be in and out of bed all night needing to use the bathroom. I’ve made that mistake before, and a restless night is inadvisable for the nine A.M. classes you have tomorrow. 

Spend time with your friends. Don't measure this. A minute, an hour, a day – if you have the time to spend, then do. 

When you sit down to write, ask yourself: how bad can a day be? This I measure with my heart. Can that day become awful? Certainly. Just how much? That’s the question I’m trying to answer currently. My heart tells me a lot. My head tells me rein it in. What was it that Bushnell taught me three years ago? 

“Take your character’s day and make it worse.”

Revisions

 

I’m supposed to be working on revisions for a story – I have a neat folder titled “WORKSHOP FEEDBACK” on my desktop – but I can’t bring myself to do it. I will, in fact, do anything except revise that story. 

For example, today I revised two completely different stories, wrote part of another, read half of A Sport and a Pastime for one of my courses, and played Minecraft for four hours. This was after waking up at 6:00am to bake cookies for my workshop group, which meets at 9:00am every Tuesday. 

I suspect that the mental block surrounding this specific story comes from my crippling need for validation. The painful truth is that I don’t want to read suggestions for my work because, in my mind, it’s perfect. It sprang fully formed from my mind, like Athena; and like Athena, it takes criticism harshly. Rationally, I know my writing isn’t perfect; but the most painful part of the writing process for me is taking a critical eye to what I wrote and applying the feedback of others. 

The other truth is that I have pages of notes from workshop and ideas for how to improve my story, but no clear idea of how to go about executing my vision. The best way to do it would be to open the documents, read the feedback, and begin making edits. 

However, I think that I deserve a break. The thousands of raw, unedited words that demand my attention can be left for tomorrow in favour of a far more important task: 

Ranking some of the dogs that I’ve seen on the streets of Edinburgh. This is a relative scale; most all dogs are good, and this ranking is entirely arbitrary and based on vibes and the day I saw them. 

Up first is Bonnie, the only named dog on this list. Bonnie belongs to the owner of a comic book store that’s conveniently along my walk to campus. Bonnie is not dead in this picture, simply enjoying the sun. Bonnie is a good old girl and a staple of the community. 10/10. 

Bonnie

Next up is a pair of chow chows. I couldn’t tell you much more about this pair of dogs, except that they were fluffy and beautiful. 20/10 (there are, after all, two of them. The math adds up, trust me). 

Taking third place is this delightful dog that a quick google search has convinced me is an otterhound. She reminded by of The Tramp. She was very gentle and a delightful dog to encounter outside of a brunch place. 10/10. 

Fourth is an English Springer Spaniel I encountered on my walk to campus. Her owner left her, leashless, outside of a pub. She greeted me with a wagging tail and followed me halfway down the block before returning to wait outside the pub. 9/10 (she loses a point for leaving me, although I understand why she did). 

Fifth place goes to this French bulldog. He was chunky, he was wide, he looked like he was dense as a brick. His owner gave me a bit of a dirty look when I snapped this picture. Unfortunately, he has to lose a couple of points for being a flat-nosed breed because, while I find it adorable, it isn’t the healthiest. 8/10. 

In sixth place are a pair of spaniels. They had a lot of energy and were completely behind their owner, busy sniffing everything. I thought they were very cute, but one of them pooped on the sidewalk while I watched and that wasn’t very cool. Three points each. 6/10. 

A husky is in seventh place. I wanted to pet him, but was afraid that he might snap at me, despite reassurances from the owner. Something about his Vibe was simply off that day. 6/10. 

This spider is in eighth place. I’ve named him Fig Junior. He lives in my room and keeps me company. I would place him higher, but he loses a lot of points for being a spider rather than a dog. 5/10. 

Last place goes to this pair of dogs. I really don’t know, I just don’t. It was a rainy day and they weren’t having a good time, I wasn’t having a good time, and the child they accompanied was not having a good time. I think the expression on the face of the one on the left says it all. They each get two points, which totals up to a 4/10.