Now what can you do for my aura?

So, last Thursday night I stumbled out of bed in the middle of the night to service a biological imperative,* as is the habit of men my age. My next recollection is of struggling up from the bathroom floor, with Biscuit standing next to me asking what happened.

I had sipped one or three beers and mostly skipped dinner the previous evening, but I really didn't have that much, officer, I swear. With no other explanation forthcoming at 3:00 am, I put it down to low blood sugar and fading stamina, made sure there were no bones sticking out, and went back to bed.**

The next morning I sat up, put my feet on the floor, and immediately fell backwards across the bed. I have experienced bed spins before, but never when it was light outside. I took another run at it, albeit more carefully, and found that once I got upright, things were more or less normal after a minute or so. Any significant change in the orientation of my head, however, sent the room spinning and started the process over.

A quick consult with Google pointed to some combination of stroke, heart disease, diabetes, and possibly a brain tumor. Or inner ear problems, which (spoiler alert!) turn out to be much more common, but don't get as much internet traction. Of course I only ever take ill on Friday. I determined to wait out the weekend, assuming I would either be dead or getting better by Monday. It turns out there was a third option, and I spent the weekend like a drunken sailor in a hurricane, stumbling from one handhold to the next.

I don't have a regular cardiologist or neurologist, as they are expensive and frightening. I do have an ear, nose, and throat doctor, and she has never used the word "catheter" in my presence that I recall, so I went to see her. I think everyone in the office knew what was wrong about five seconds after I walked in, but they are nothing if not thorough, so I got a blood pressure check, another stroke test, a few hearing and ear tests, and a good listen through a stethoscope. Apparently they also have the Google. Right before leaving the room, the nurse said, "She will be in shortly. She's going to align your crystals!"

My view of the world for much of the last week.

After eliminating the scary possibilities, the doctor tested me for what she already knew was wrong with me, which is something called benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, or BPPV. Unlike ED or RLS, positional vertigo is not something made up by drug companies, but a real thing that happens to a lot of people. Apparently, tiny rocks (the crystals) in the inner ear wander into a neighborhood where they are not welcome, and the social tension causes a miniature riot when you move your head.

She put me in Bugs Bunny's barber chair, raised me to a height guaranteed to break something if I fell off, and had me lie back and turn my head to the side. If she said "cough" I was out of there, dizzy or not. Instead, she held up a finger for me to stare at, and when I turned to the left and one finger suddenly became three, she said, "There it goes!" with a look like an arsonist at a bonfire.

The treatment turns out to be something called the Epley maneuver. While this sounds like a British military technique that probably involves a bayonet, it's just more lying down, turning the head, sitting up, and getting dizzy. It doesn't fix the problem exactly, but relocates the tiny crystals to somewhere less annoying in the ear until they resorb. Also, I learned a new word. Re-sorb.

I'm pretty much back to normal now, with occasional bouts of walking like a mildly drunken landlubber in normal circumstances when I forget and do something stupid like lie down and then stand up. I haven't tried driving yet. Maybe today. What could possibly go wrong?

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* I'm pretty sure this is why they are called the "wee hours."

** Biscuit made me smile and blink, and whatever else you are supposed to do to check for stroke before she would let me go back to sleep. Apparently I passed, or she just got tired.

Simple happiness

Final exams were last week, and a few days ago I was contemplating a post to bookend the back to school diatribe I wrote nine months ago. It would have detailed the fundamental and visible ways that the end of the academic year differs from its start. The mood on a rapidly emptying campus is a mix of elation and indifference born of exhaustion. There are no novices on campus now, no wasted steps, and virtually no one is in a hurry. Traffic is practically bearable. Summer's oppressive heat has been replaced with Spring breezes.

This is where it all went wrong. By the next day, when I got serious about writing, it was 89 degrees and humid. The magical state of inspiration was shattered. My disillusionment was beyond what the change in weather alone would dictate. I groused like my grumpiest Facebook friend.

I think this is one reason that grownups can't often achieve the same unabashed happiness that kids get out of five minutes on the merry-go-round.* Adults have complicated lives, with too many degrees of freedom in their bliss equations. Kids don't worry about tomorrow, or regret the road not taken. They are zen, unstable and uncaring. The rest of us bind our happiness to innumerable threads of achievement, entangled and often pulling against each other. Food, shelter, career success, happy and well adjusted children, regard of our peers, romantic bliss, must all coexist before we allow ourselves untainted joy. We must scale to the top of Maslow's pyramid to be unburdened, while an 8 year old is good with a hot dog and 15 minutes in the pool.

The playground may be rubber, but at least none of these kids are texting.
Image from here

I am not sure how much of this behavior is learned, and how much is a natural consequence of the way we are wired. There is a lot of gray matter surrounding the happy place in our brain. I'm sure it's there for some reason. And there is definitely a hormonal component. Self doubt and regret seem to come with puberty.

The good news is that I think the capacity for simple pleasure returns with age. Ask an eighty year old what makes them happy, and they are likely to say a good bowel movement, or a day in the garden. Our family gatherings used to devolve into stress-filled group therapy sessions. These days my family laughs through most of our time together.  I have watched my mother's happiness threshold for holidays like Mothers Day moderate from -- unachievable, really -- to lunch  and a call from her kids.

So it seems there is hope for us all, even my grumpy Facebook friend. Have a simply happy Mother's Day, everyone.

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* I realize merry-go-rounds are much too dangerous for today's children. Do iPad games and Disney shows produce the same giggling elation? A question for another day -- and someone with kids -- I suppose.

Life without a laptop

My personal laptop suffered a massive stroke this past weekend. It is not completely dead, at least not yet. It powers on and the little Apple shows up, but not much productive happens after that. I am doing what I can to make it comfortable and save what memories remain, but it's only a matter of time before we pull the life support.

While tragic, this doesn't exactly leave me cut off from the virtual world. I have an embarrassing number of computers and tablets at work, and a few more at the house. But this is the machine that I commune with early in the morning, that keeps me company while I watch TV, and that sits with me when I am sick. It has been my near-constant companion since -- apparently -- mid 2009. Plus, it knows a lot of my passwords.

I have already learned something from the experience, though. I don't have the same relationship with my phone that the young people do, and the laptop has been my go-to device for killing time. Over the years, I have used the big machine more like kids use their phones, as a cure for boredom and an habitual source of distraction. Without it, I feel more focused, and I am spending more time out of my chair.

Much of my professional work involves Tangible Computing, and the Internet of Things, concepts so powerful that they defy explanation. Seriously, I can't explain them. I have been trying for years. What they promise is a future where -- let's say a decade from now -- Google will use your habits at home to adjust the thermostat in your office. They might even tweak the temperature based on what clothes you put on before you left the house. Your coffee cup will tell the robot at Starbucks what you want, and pay for the transaction. Your car may inform you that the restaurant you entered as a destination is frequented by your ex, and there is a 42% chance that they are there. And you won't have to do anything! It will all happen automatically. In fact, you won't be able to stop it.

If you are much over 30, this probably all sounds terrifying and horrible. Much younger, and your attitude is likely to be more positive. Either way, the future is coming, ready or not. The idea of computing as an activity one does with a machine will be as much a part of the past as talking on the phone in a specific room, tethered by a curly cord. The world of Star Trek will be with us much earlier than anyone believed, at least where technology is concerned. The social justice and peace thing will probably take much longer.

I was going to add an image of the inside of a computer, but this seems infinitely more appropriate.
Image from here

What is unclear is what this will do to the way people think. It is possible that technology will sink naturally into the background, allowing us to live a more intentional life. Some of our current research is in this direction, creating environments that change subtly with conditions, the way the sky changes color due to time and weather. Given society's history, it is more likely that our connected environment will attract and manipulate us in ways subtle and profane, and that we will become even more distracted than the kids who walk in front of my car every day, never looking up from their iPhones. Maybe that thermostat will cool the room an extra couple of degrees during the morning, so that I am a little more susceptible to the suggestion of a vente mochaccino.

My intellectual interest is in making sure all of this works together in some reasonable way. If my refrigerator is going to catch me up on my [insert favorite social media platform here] feed, then it damn well better remember what I came into the kitchen to do, because I certainly won't. I think this post is a good example of that phenomenon.

Which brings me to what will have to serve as the point of all this. I am going to fix or replace my laptop, but I don't think I will keep it so close to me. I need to understand this brave new world to the extent I will participate, and my MacBook is no more a part of it than a rotary phone, or cable TV.