Me when I’m focused: I find something cool to read. There is the vague awareness of sunlight no longer shining through the window behind me, followed by the return of said light. Wait, shit, that means I’ve been reading all night. If I didn’t keep snacks nearby, it’s possible that I wouldn’t have eaten.
Me when I’m unable to focus: I find something cool to read. I cannot make it past the first two paragraphs. Wow, there sure is a lot of text of the page. My brain refuses to properly process it. There are the sounds of a conversation in another room, the ever-present hum of electronics, cats walking on the roof. My foot itches, and I have a song stuck in my head. …Why am I poking myself in the face with a drinking straw? Where did I even get the straw?? Where did it come from???? I walk away, confused and realizing I’m hungry. I go to grab a can of beans, and come back with two coloring books, a pair of headphones and the overwhelming feeling that I forgot something. I put the items down on the couch and pace back and forth for no reason.
You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.
You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?
You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”
He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”
This one wins.
It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up. She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out. First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.
Clark’s introducing her around. “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”
You blink, and take a step back in fear. You’ve never seen an 11 before.
starry-eyed 