Like most people’s, my brain is a delightful soupy mess of impulses, habits, Monty Python punchlines and the occasional ADD sneak attack. Make that not so occasional. Make that often. In fact sometimes my brain juices get so frothed up I have difficulty focusing for hours, even days at a time.
This makes job-working difficult. Sometimes. Often, even.
The two levels my brain is happiest on are OMG SO MUCH GOING ON MULTITASKING FEVER and mellow….repetitive….efficient… data entry, with brief trips to Entertained But Not Frantic.
As much as I can think of to either simulate MULTITASKING FEVER (like playing a soundtrack or a Disney movie I’ve seen a jillion times in the background while working), I learned today that sometimes my brain intervenes without um, my brain knowing.
At work right now we’re doing a Big Project With Lots of Fiddly Bits that involves reviewing lots of text in little diddly windows, with lots of copying and pasting and scrolling and changing five words and hitting save. There are no shortcuts. I have streamlined it as much as I can, the process of which keeps my brain interested, but I was still doing this:
when what I should have been doing was fiddling the bits and reviewing lots of little windows.
And so my brain decided to keep me up. Until 2. Three days in a row. So after a few days of MANIC ENERGY MUST INTERNET, I’m finally tired and able to slip straight into data-entry-text-review mode when I sit down at my desk. I burned through a few project assignments without stopping for more than a cup of coffee and a drink of water this week. The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Toy Story 2 whizzed by in the background without my once needing to rewind or put on techno or just play monopoly for one little second and hey I should really review that playlist…
It’s kind of neat, but I wish my body and my brain could exchange memos or @replies or something so I could better synchronize the needs of my workplace (mellow, focused MKP) with the whims of my golf cart companions (distract-o-rama!!).
Coping mechanisms. Gotta love ’em.