What an oddly productive week--both in terms of stuff I don't much care about (which is what makes me money) and the stuff I do care about (which is what makes me smile). Documentation produced, chapters written! Two chapters, in fact, with good headway already being made on the third.I blame that little guy there on the left, looking like a cuddly mutant teddy bear. Dopamine! My catecholamine buddy! My prolactin-inhibitin' pal! Reinforcin' mah pleasure, regulatin' mah rewards, increasin' mah sociability, and reorderin' the salience of mah stimuli! Decreasin' mah latent inhibition and firin' up mah creativity muscles!
I likes me some dopamine. Can you tell? There's actually a [Piano Cue] in my head and this whole little dopamine song but that won't really play well if you just read it and I'm not quite in love with this particular neurotransmitter enough to actually sit down and bang out a couple of tracks. (Other songs of mine, like the ever popular "Hopped Up On Goofballs" read well on the page, but not the Dopamine Song.) Maybe some other time.
So let's all just take a moment to appreciate our own little tureens of neurochemical soup: the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. Yeah, it's a bad time when the soup's all wrong--too much garlic or not enough 5-Hydroxytryptamine, we've all been there--but some days all the vesicles are squirting right and the synaptic gaps are firing and then things flow.
Lots of folks these days want to talk about spirit and soul and so forth, and how said ephemeral you-stuff figures into your good days and your bad days, but not me. No, for me it's all about the brain matter and the goop that it talks to itself with.
And this week, the neurons have been having excellent conversations amongst themselves. Next week, who knows? Maybe next week they're having screaming arguments and bashing their wee dendrites against the inside of my skull in tiny, impotent cellular rage.
But not this week.
Hummmmmm.
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