There’s all this delicate metaphorical machinery in my brain, a lot of complex equipment that apparently does something. What that something might be, I don’t really understand.
All I know is that the machines must work. They’ve got to be calibrated. If just one of them isn’t, then the collective system my thought processes comprise malfunctions in a way that’s noticeable but not easily fixable: I might know something’s wrong but I won’t know what or why.
Breakdowns are always happening, some on a large scale, some on a small one. I might be sitting somewhere trying to read some notes. I might even be getting stuff done. When some tiny factor changes, though, that’s it. My concentration shatters. The brief period of productivity ends; a lengthy period of confusion takes its place.
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