[written this morning, because Other Reasons]
Humans are pattern-seeking animals. Yesterday we were looking for patterns in spectral lines, which will hold true in perpetuity – sodium will always have two heavy bars of yellow; when that changes, it won’t be sodium any more – and then in the stars, finding the same constellations our forebears found. Our afterbears may not see them quite the same, but hey. They’ll look regardless. It’s what we do, and how we understand the world. Data is patterning, and so is language.
The same holds true in small, in brief, in habit. I lived in Newcastle thirty years, and I was outraged when I couldn’t get my little table at the Lit & Phil, my booth in the Bodega. We haven’t been here three days yet, and already…
I have my seat in the classroom, and it ain’t just me, we all do. There are three of us who come here to the student union every morning at seven o’clock. We laptop, we wi-fi, we slurrup coffee – and we sit in the same seats at the same table. Habit has us in its grip. It seems too soon, but it feels right. And it works. We work. Fiction happens. (Sometimes it gets slowed up by research – already this morning I have needed to learn more about Martian seasons and the construction of lock-gates and how large-scale irrigation works, and that’s only on one page – but that’s what the internet is for. Which is one reason why we come here, because connectivity.)