Alexandra M. (ILI) — Navigating the Senses, Memory, and the Day

Cinematic Memory and the Trap of Detail

In my memories, I always replay events like a movie, with successive actions changing one another. I remember them down to the smallest details. For example, recently my colleagues and I went to Vyksa. Separate episodes of the trip and my thoughts stuck in my memory like frames from a movie:

Here I am at home, getting ready.
Here I am running out of the house.
The sun is very bright.
Here I am at the bus stop.
Here a car pulls up.
Oh, happiness—I’m not late!
We’re driving. The car is beautiful, a silver Volga. The seat is soft, it’s not hot, the windows are tinted, the sun shines through them without being too bright—that’s good already.
We’re going fast. Cool. Outside the window, the landscape. Trees that are just starting to turn green replace one another. In some places, however, there’s still snow.
The driver, unfortunately, is not attractive at all—kind of gloomy, and the dark glasses really don’t suit him. Oh well, as long as he drives well. And he seems to be driving fine. So let him look however he wants. It’s his business, after all.
And anyway, as long as no one bothers me. Otherwise, we’re driving nicely, with the breeze, even pleasantly.

<...> If I watch the film a second time, I can do something useful in parallel (a manicure, for example). That way, I kill two birds with one stone—my nails are done and I get a pleasant impression, or rather even three birds—plus I can stroll through my memories. I always immediately recall thoroughly:

• my state while watching the film the first time;

• all the circumstances of the viewing (where, when, with whom).

I can even name the exact date—for that I need to recall some event from that day, link it to a nearby event, and thus a chain of events is built. Among them there will surely be at least one whose date I remember exactly, and from there it’s not hard to count back.

Sometimes it seems to me that I would be a good witness, because I remember small circumstances and details well.

However, examining details often prevents me from grasping the essence of events.

For example, during my student years I could get distracted from the essence of a lecture by examining the sheets on which the lecturer’s text was written: yellowish—so he doesn’t use a computer, so the lectures are quite old, and so on.

In general, I always remember the circumstances of events better than the events themselves, and I mostly remember all sorts of little things that have nothing to do with the matter.

Visual Imagination and Bodily Awareness

I often see the world in images. One evening, my friends and I were out for a walk as dusk was falling. Suddenly, something flashed behind my back—out of the corner of my eye, I saw a little giraffe run past!

In a split second, a chain of thoughts rushed through my mind: Oh, he must have escaped from the zoo, poor thing! How is he going to manage alone in the city, especially so late? It’s already dark, he'll get lost, and they won't find him later. I even managed to wonder which zoo he could have escaped from—Switzerland Park, maybe? No, I thought, I don't think they have a giraffe there... But he’s so cute, a little ginger one, though you can't see the spots—well, that's just because it's dark... Then I thought, Ugh, what am I even thinking?! I looked closer and saw a young man in a black trench coat walking away... I told my friends, and to this day they can't forget my "vision"!

When I am exhausted or running on too little sleep, I lose the sensation of my physical body. Instead, I feel as though I am nothing but a pair of eyes: here they are floating down the street, now they are turning a corner... In this state, I often bump into objects or people because it seems to me that if my eyes fit into a space, my whole body will too. In this condition, I barely feel my body at all, though I don’t explicitly think about it.

The Vulnerability of Waking and Morning Rituals

I absolutely hate waking up to an alarm. It instantly makes me feel like everyone has abandoned me, that nobody loves me, and that I'm completely unwanted. My mood plummets, and I can't bring myself to get out of bed. I love being woken up gently (by my mom). I need to be woken up in stages: first, just enough for me to vaguely realize that someone is trying to wake me, then leave me alone for a bit—preferably about 10–15 minutes—so I can gather myself and slowly realize I'm in this world. Then I need to be woken up a second time, more firmly, and it’s best to rub or stroke my back quite energetically so I realize I am actually here. I always stretch my entire body and only then carefully get up. I love it when someone hugs me as soon as I stand up, showing they are happy to see me and smiling. It's childish, I know, but it genuinely makes it easier for me to start the day.

I really dislike it when other people stay asleep after I've gotten up. How is that fair? It’s just not right!

Once I'm up, I go straight to the shower. That's the only place where I more or less wake up. I say a few kind words to myself in the mirror like a mantra; it helps me feel better because the upcoming day usually frightens me with its unpredictability and the necessity to do things—most likely things I don't want to do.

Ideally, it should take 1.5 hours (at least 1 hour) from the moment I wake up until I leave the house. Any earlier, and I can barely think straight, especially before breakfast. If I haven't slept enough, and particularly if I leave without breakfast, I feel like I'm inside the cockpit of a flying vehicle whose controls I barely understand. I can hardly feel my legs. Breakfast grounds me a little.

It's best when I do morning exercises, which actually feel more like stretching. Only after that do I have breakfast, and only then do I regain some capacity to function and go to work.

Daily Rhythms: The Midday Reboot and Late-Night Vitality

During my lunch break, I absolutely must go outside; otherwise, I start imagining some kind of thick, black rubber that I am stuck in forever, unable to see or understand anything. But if I go out, it’s like a Matrix reboot. Everything falls into place, and I understand: here is the world, and here am I in it. I'll go back in now, keep working, and then I'll head home or go somewhere else for my own interesting plans. And the day ends up being positive.

In the evening, I can't bring myself to go to bed for a long time, even if I'm really sleepy. The time after 11:00 PM, when everyone has quieted down, is "delicious" time for me. Everything feels interesting, and I get the urge to do something that I wouldn't dream of doing during daylight hours, even if I had the time.

Work Habits, Procrastination, and External Triggers

It is very hard to force myself to work. I picture a person who once performed the exact same job in front of me; that is, I sort of see myself from the outside in a state of peak productivity, and I keep looking back, checking if I match that imagined image. However, as a rule, while I'm thinking all this through, I get distracted, so I don't actually do any work—or rather, I do it, but incredibly slowly. Though I don't rule out that from the outside, it looks exactly like I'm completely, head-over-heels immersed in my work.

But none of the above applies to work that is vital to me at that exact moment (meaning, if someone tells me: do it right now, quickly, this very second, please, it's urgent, I'll stand right here, otherwise X, Y, and Z will happen—and especially if I have already faced the negative consequences of that "X, Y, and Z" before—I will most likely just do it, because I realize there's no time for overthinking right now).

I need a "kick" to get moving. Otherwise, it takes me forever to get started. And it’s even better if someone is invested in me finishing the work as quickly as possible and is sitting nearby, waiting for me to finish. I can only give myself that "kick" if I know from past experience exactly what procrastination will cost me. And if I realize I don't want to deal with that again, I will try my best to do everything properly.

In general, I really dislike my state of laziness. I dissolve into it and can stay there for a very long time, and it doesn't bring me any pleasure. On the contrary, it brings a sense of my own inadequacy, because I start beating myself up for not being able to pull myself together.

Sometimes I set a time limit for how long I'm allowed to be lazy, and then everything is fine—it's just my planned downtime, and I try to spend it in an interesting way. For instance, I might pour myself a coffee and open a book on my computer. But there are times when I just absolutely, completely don't want to do anything. Then, breaking out of that state is incredibly tough. I need an external "exit factor"—an outside trigger, like a person who will say, "Come on, it's time to work on this, look how interesting it is." Then I can switch my mindset to work mode and get into the right mood. Mind you, even if my rest was planned, it's still easier if someone helps me transition to work (by telling me it's time to get things done and stop relaxing).

Generally speaking, I have some kind of internal regulator for workload volume. I know that the more work a person does, the more they pile onto them. I don't want to be a "machine," and I don't want people dumping work on me. But I try not to refuse work officially (I know I won't withstand potential pushback, won't find convincing arguments to say no, will waste too much energy in an argument, and people's attitude toward me will change), so I use various tricks instead. For example, leaving it slightly unfinished—having some rough draft to show if needed, and then asking my manager to look it over and suggest changes so I can finalize the draft based on their feedback. But finishing a task is always very hard for me because it feels like there is always something more to add, refine, or perfect.

If I do happen to finish a piece of work, I will not redo it—my entire being rebels against that. I hate backtracking to what's already done (this applies strictly to work; I actually love my memories).

But I need to be rewarded or praised in some way when I'm doing work that is difficult for me. I need people to tell me that I'm doing great and that I'm good at it. Otherwise, I’ll get completely discouraged, feel like I'm failing at everything, and just abandon it all.

I love working to music. Right now, I'm sitting here with my headphones on. Silence weighs on me; my thoughts start sounding too loud and end up distracting me. Sometimes it even feels like I've spoken them out loud, when in reality, I just thought them very loudly.

I hate having a lot of housework to do. I'm not a robot. Or rather, I'm a robot only once. Never again. I'll play sick (and to be honest, I really might get sick—though that usually happens from overworking at my actual job), claim I'm busy, or make sure I'm out of the house on cleaning days... in short, I'll slack off. At least until I see the need for cleaning myself and actually feel like tidying up. But as long as I know that if I'm not around, someone else will clean up anyway, I genuinely won't be around. Not until my conscience kicks in.

I really love my "work state" when I'm genuinely overcome by the desire to get things done, and the finished product brings satisfaction. That's when I praise and respect myself.

When I have a task ahead of me, I always instantly visualize the final result and the entire path to get there. But when I "snap out of it," I realize how far I am from finishing (especially if I'm only at the very beginning). I get terrified by how much time and energy I'll have to expend... Oh, the horror! Where is my chocolate? Why hasn't anyone poured me a coffee yet? And anyway, why do I have to do anything at all? They'll manage without me. Meanwhile, I'll just sit here somewhere with these papers, sipping coffee, letting everyone think I'm working too... Except later, I don't get why everyone else has everything done while I don't. Didn't I want to get it all done too? Yes, I did. But I was lazy. And scared. Even starting is scary. Because it won't work out anyway. I won't finish in time anyway.

Information Retrieval and the Challenges of Spontaneous Expression

I think of myself as a fairly well-read and educated person. However, it is exceptionally hard for me to retrieve the necessary information from my internal "archive." I need help with this too. I like it when people build logical connections for me and ask leading questions; it makes it easier for me to transition to speaking for myself. My speech only sounds good when I am expressing a well-thought-out idea. Thinking and speaking at the exact same time is very difficult for me.

Physicality, Movement, and Financial Security

I feel awful when I don't have money. I feel socially humiliated. To me, it's not even about buying things, but about having the ability to buy them. Money is a necessity in our world. It's the key to success.

I really love walking, and I like to walk fast. It's healthier that way—you can shed extra weight and burn off negative energy—plus, it just feels like a waste of time to walk slowly. Even when I have plenty of time, I still walk fast. And I dislike it when someone tags along who walks slower and holds me back, forcing me to make conversation on top of it. A lot of people even tell me, "Go ahead and run, I can't keep up with you." I get a real thrill out of fast walking. And I suffer a lot when bad weather or other circumstances keep me from going for a walk—especially when those circumstances feel insignificant to me personally.

I go to the gym for shaping classes. I love working on my body. I really enjoy dynamic, simple, repetitive movements to music. Whenever I have to miss a class, I feel like I'm turning into pure fat, getting weak, and becoming completely useless. But when I exercise regularly, I feel toned and fit, because I'm doing great and my body is in shape. And it's very important for me to feel that way.

Source: How to Raise a Child Without Complexes by O. Mikhevnina