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One day I'm going to buy a bigger desk.
I just spent a good half hour playing with an egg timer. It's the type that's actually shaped like an egg, with the very bottom cut flat, where the upper and lower half are separate and you turn them against each other to set the timer. The bottom half is metal, and it's the part that actually rings when time is up. The clockwork is in the metalic half, but of course separate from the bell so it can actually ring, so the barycentre is just below the widest part of the “egg.”
This conglomerate makes for an interesting set of properties when you spin or flick it. The unstable, slightly top-heavy position of the barycentre makes the egg shaped whole rock and wobble like an overdrawn carricature of a stumbling drunk. The bell chirps and warbles as the timer swings and dips. The long distance from barycentre to the top makes for a pretty long lever that prevents the egg from settling quickly and can even drag it into horizontal orientation when spinning fast. The flat cut bottom erratically pulls and sways the timer as it rolls.
Watching it go after giving it a spin is rather fascinating. The egg is helplessly kept in motion by several forces at odds with each other, seesawing hither and yon. Sometimes it dips down again for another while after you thought it was about to stand still upright. You can never tell exactly what is going to happen next, even though you can clearly watch the momentum decline. Most of the trajectories it takes are circular to an extent, but occasionally it goes in straight lines as well. Ususally, a touch down of the flat cut bottom will eventually cost so much energy that it forces a very quick decay to an upright standstill onto the dance. It overrides all other forces. Sometimes, though, very occasionally, the edge of that very cut will present a resistance that keeps the timer in a slant.
It struck me as a very apt metaphor for life itself.
Unfortunately, my desk is only so large, and there are several other things on it, so the most daring careening dances are usually abruptly cut short by a smack into the pencil case or my cordless phone or the wristwatch. You can't always tell that it's going to happen: sometimes the dancer is a good distance away from any obstacle before an unforseen wallop sends it whacking into an obstruction. It usually vainly keeps spinning for a short while, but all the fervour is gone and things come to end very soon.
One day I'm going to buy a bigger desk.
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