After my initial post, (which I would link to were it not just two posts away) I continued to sleep on the floor for about a week. I started to wake with joint discomfort, which would go away after an hour or so, but overall I was happy with it. The bigger problem was that the bed was blocking airflow, making the floor much hotter than the bed, which had a nice breeze, which in early August, is awfully important for getting any sleep at all. It was also hard to convince myself to continue sleeping on the floor when I knew just a few weeks later I would get used to it whether I wanted to or not.
That's where I stand now. I've slept on the floor the past 18 nights simply because I don't have a bed or the means to acquire one. At this point I don't even think about it as floor sleeping, my bed just happens to be a folded over comforter. That said, though, I do find myself wanting a real bed at times, with a mattress and box spring and frame and probably even a headboard. Like it or not, the comfort is alluring to me. And if I'm completely honest, I do worry a bit about the long term effect of floor sleeping on my joints. While I think sleeping on a hard surface is probably very good for your health if you sleep on your back, I sleep on my front and side, and often wake up with my elbows pinched uncomfortably against the floor.
Honestly I think I'm just trying to go too hardcore. Cultures that sleep on the floor generally make a bed out of the soft things they have lying around, and I don't think I would be breaking the minimalist ethos by adding an extra blanket. I think I'll do that and try to stay on the floor for at least another month, and update again then.
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Awareness, Negativity, and Twitter
Disclaimer: I wrote this without much planning or forethought; it's more thinking out loud than it is taking a stance. I still feel uncertain about most of this.
Between Ferguson and the treatment of Zoe Quinn a few weeks ago, supplemented by my stressful move from IL to SC, I decided I needed a break from Twitter. I originally got on Twitter due to the recommendation of faculty at Columbia, who said it was a great way to keep your finger on the pulse of the game industry, which it is. Every game announcement, high-profile departure, studio closing, and social issue were discussed at length at incredible speed. It's actually a very cool experience, because the game industry is currently small enough that it's feasible to not only listen to but participate in every meaningful discussion it has. As an industry hopeful, I found this amazing, and I generally kept current- aka reading every single tweet that someone I followed wrote or retweeted for month long stretches.
Unfortunately, the zeitgeist of the game industry is currently overwhelmingly negative. Sure, someone would occasionally exclaim about how cool it was that there were so many great games and interesting people creating them, but those celebrations were sporadic at best. Primarily it was doom and gloom: articles about how racist and sexist and horrible gamers are, how EA is fucking everyone over again, how well-known developers are terrible people and have no respect for the people who work for them, how it's impossible for indie developers to make a living, how it's impossible for AAA studios to sustain their model. And as many of the people I followed were active politically as well, I also had to bare the full weight of police brutality in the US and sectarian violence in the Middle East and disease in Africa and every other problem imaginable in every other place imaginable.
For a time I welcomed all this information, sought it out, because if I wasn't aware of it, how could I possibly help to stop it? I felt that I had a responsibility to the world. But the fact is, even if I AM aware of it, I have no hope of solving these problems. How can there be responsibility where there is not possibility? There are problems in this world I can solve, and the best way for me to help this world improve is to focus on those- all effort I spend on problems I can't solve takes away from those that I can.
The obvious question, then, is if I choose to shut myself out from all problems, how can I be aware of the ones I can solve? If being completely unaware is ineffective and being completely aware is futile, how do I find the middle ground where I can do the most good? I don't have the answer to that question yet.
I checked Twitter tonight for the first time in three weeks. I saw one mention of Destiny being cool, and then something called "Gamergate". As soon as I read it I felt relieved and maybe strangely proud that I didn't know what that was. I'm certain it's not good, but would my understanding of it have changed anything? Would the game industry be a better place if I had watched it unfold? I closed the tab without reading any more.
I'm probably going to miss the Kickstarter announcements, funny stories, DayZ development updates, and Cliff Blezinski's sass. I'll definitely miss the intense feeling of connection to the industry that only drinking from the firehose can bring. But I'm pretty sure I'll be happier overall.
Between Ferguson and the treatment of Zoe Quinn a few weeks ago, supplemented by my stressful move from IL to SC, I decided I needed a break from Twitter. I originally got on Twitter due to the recommendation of faculty at Columbia, who said it was a great way to keep your finger on the pulse of the game industry, which it is. Every game announcement, high-profile departure, studio closing, and social issue were discussed at length at incredible speed. It's actually a very cool experience, because the game industry is currently small enough that it's feasible to not only listen to but participate in every meaningful discussion it has. As an industry hopeful, I found this amazing, and I generally kept current- aka reading every single tweet that someone I followed wrote or retweeted for month long stretches.
Unfortunately, the zeitgeist of the game industry is currently overwhelmingly negative. Sure, someone would occasionally exclaim about how cool it was that there were so many great games and interesting people creating them, but those celebrations were sporadic at best. Primarily it was doom and gloom: articles about how racist and sexist and horrible gamers are, how EA is fucking everyone over again, how well-known developers are terrible people and have no respect for the people who work for them, how it's impossible for indie developers to make a living, how it's impossible for AAA studios to sustain their model. And as many of the people I followed were active politically as well, I also had to bare the full weight of police brutality in the US and sectarian violence in the Middle East and disease in Africa and every other problem imaginable in every other place imaginable.
For a time I welcomed all this information, sought it out, because if I wasn't aware of it, how could I possibly help to stop it? I felt that I had a responsibility to the world. But the fact is, even if I AM aware of it, I have no hope of solving these problems. How can there be responsibility where there is not possibility? There are problems in this world I can solve, and the best way for me to help this world improve is to focus on those- all effort I spend on problems I can't solve takes away from those that I can.
The obvious question, then, is if I choose to shut myself out from all problems, how can I be aware of the ones I can solve? If being completely unaware is ineffective and being completely aware is futile, how do I find the middle ground where I can do the most good? I don't have the answer to that question yet.
I checked Twitter tonight for the first time in three weeks. I saw one mention of Destiny being cool, and then something called "Gamergate". As soon as I read it I felt relieved and maybe strangely proud that I didn't know what that was. I'm certain it's not good, but would my understanding of it have changed anything? Would the game industry be a better place if I had watched it unfold? I closed the tab without reading any more.
I'm probably going to miss the Kickstarter announcements, funny stories, DayZ development updates, and Cliff Blezinski's sass. I'll definitely miss the intense feeling of connection to the industry that only drinking from the firehose can bring. But I'm pretty sure I'll be happier overall.
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