Passion is the enemy of precision.

My father is going to have heart bypass surgery in three weeks.  He's not exactly relaxed about it all, but he's not worried.  I called him fatalistic, but he didn't really like that label - although, seriously, his attitude is that he's getting it done, they do these things all the time, and there's nothing to do but what he's doing, so that's what he's going to do and he's not going to worry about the rest.  And even though there's no sense of predestination in that particular attitude, he's so ... remarkably unruffled about the whole thing that there's nothing really to do but stay unruffled in response.  Which is probably a good thing.  Ruffling is bad.  I cannot imagine my father ruffling anyway.

I wonder if my father's ever seen The Zero Effect.  Not that he'd accept the whole Holmsian-speed-using-passionate-rationalism that pervades that - but the quote seems far too apt. 

Work is weird, but fine.  School is good, slightly slow, but ramping back up again.  The kitty is cute, the boy is cute, i am... me.  So the world proceeds apace.