The zone

There’s a zone one enters when travel of a sort becomes familiar to the point of being able to comfortably plan and execute the patterns with a minimal amount of waste and uncertainty. Somewhere around the fifth time out of Narita international immigration was little more than a trip to the dentist; a positive outcome from an extended period of immobility during which I could alphabetize all of the manila folders of my mind. All the spare trash and receipts of my backpack and wallets, the comfort from advance knowledge of how to time my beverage consumption to the cheapest vending machine along the route. Today I made about the fourth or fifth trip to the Suwa interchange Oginaya and I could see myself sprinting across the byway to Game St., the next time around. iPod with playlists, notepad, roll of coins and a ticket holder. I derive a great deal of pleasure from skiing simply because it is an activity that I can ratchet up my skill level simply through scientific method. A leads to B leads to C.

Nearly everything outside of mental decompression is based purely on distilling an action down to the most simple and refined of processes, the essence of cognitive life. It is perhaps my greatest strength and weakness, application of ordered analysis. So many conquerable fields, tangible and not, so little time in this continuous consciousness to separate them all.