check in—first of July

check in—first of July

I actually have a five-day weekend—my usual cushy four, plus
Independence Day. I spent yesterday being netsick, and in the morning
I saw on Twitter Google has a new finetuned language model that broke
50% on a math-problem benchmark, which superforecasters had expected
to happen in 2025. So much can happen three years ahead of
schedule—and it's also equally possible to waste three years; there's
no fundamental reason I couldn't have written my Whole Dumb Story in
2019 and moved on. Instead—you know, the other day at my dayjob, I got
stuck in a Yudkowsky-hate loop again.

Independence Day will be the aniversary of the time I talked to him at
the Independence Day party last year, and had my heart
broken. It—hasn't really been a very productive year? I still have
lots of stuff to do and to write—it just hasn't been appealing on a
moment-to-moment level, compared to Super Auto Pets?

How do I escape this trap? I pulled my network cable out yesterday,
but today I've just been lazy on my phone. If I could get three and a
half solid days of writing in with the network cable out—just forget
that there is a Twitter with scary ML announcements and shrink my
world—

Then today I re-watched half an original series episode, skim-re-read
John Scalzi's _Redshirts_, and now my phone is off. I can turn my
phone on again Sunday night to order food, if I get enough
memoir-writing done tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday—just the memoir; I
can't afford to dilute my attention with AI stuff or correspondence
that I "should" be writing for dignity points ... I told you, I told
the blog, that I have to Believe that my Story matters.