It's liberating to know that my own lateral habenula is very well supplied by emotion from the endocrine system. Our little decisions in the primitive cortex, swimming in a sea made beautiful by constant flux, or slope if you prefer, or what the idiot functionalists interpret as imbalance, but which could be some kind of boson. And they are fun to watch, these little decisions being made, but no fun to be a part of, unless you are twenty thousand years old, or nearly dead, or sometimes like me, you are stricken by the delusion that emotions know what they are doing. And here, I'll not even try to pretend that I'm a fan of the current definitions of "holiday season,"
The odder thing still, is that in pursuit of gain the impulse to make
contentment a commodity, and then compete for it, has resulted in reducing
"holiday season" to a sort of retarded gravy color. In the geometry of me, this
retarded gravy color is a tiny dot, upon which the hope of the world appears to
be perched. It's called twenty four hour shopping. Fortunately,
despite rumor to the contrary, we are none of us that special, or jolly.
Which will be my new brand words as I move the current definition of
"holiday season" firmly into the category of "threat to humanity."