And the flashlights! and explosions!

I have become obsessed with the Thin White Duke mix of Royksopp's "What Else Is There?" since hearing it on KEXP a couple of days ago. It turns out that the CD single with the remixes isn't out until January. How is a girl to cope? I think this is going to become one of my instant good mood tracks... but only the remix. I am grateful for the streaming archive on the KEXP website (for another week or two at least).

I am at work. No one else is here. I like it like this. I can play music loud and get stuff done. But this is connected to what I was thinking on my way in earlier today, which topic concerns something like work-life balance except that I don't even know what that means. I've decided that it's generally a code people use to justify spending more time with their kids. I've thought about what it means that I sort of use work life to fill gaps in my personal life and use personal life to fill gaps in my work life, and that even that model doesn't entirely make sense to me because I have a thinner line than usual between work and personal anyway (and I'm married to someone who also does, and who also works where I work, albeit not with me), except that when I think about my friends, who may be unusual by virtue of that status anyway, I don't think most of them are any different. Most of them also don't have kids.

And that's something else again. Right now most of my friends don't have kids. I wonder whether that will still be the case in five years. Statistics would suggest that that will change but I kind of think it won't. And then I think: wait, do I want to have kids? Do I have it in me to be double-mindedly obsessive rather than single-mindedly so? I can't become the kind of person who has to leave work early to take her kids to dancing lessons.

And yet I love kids. I am really excited that I'm going to be coaching again starting in a couple of weeks. Most of my life I've worked with kids in some capacity or other, but I work with them before they grow up and become annoying.

A reasonable person might ask why one has to be obsessive at all, but anyone who knows me has probably suspended reason on this point.