Stripes and Silence
When fish have better uptime then my special interests
Once again I’m on call, and every PagerDuty alert resonates like nails on a chalkboard—an especially jarring experience for a remote developer managing autism and anxiety.
I jerk awake, heart hammering, convinced I missed the alert—only to blink and realize I’m still dreaming, caught in a dream within a dream. Screens flash red in every direction, my own voice shrieking “You’re on call!”, and as I fumble for my phone it slips away. Suddenly I’m sinking through cold, dark water toward the ocean floor, lungs burning, because the phone has vanished into the depths of this nightmare.
I jerk awake, heart hammering, convinced I missed the alert—only to blink and realize I’m still dreaming, caught in a dream within a dream. Screens flash red in every direction, my own voice shrieking “You’re on call!”, and as I fumble for my phone it slips away. Suddenly I’m sinking through cold, dark water toward the ocean floor, lungs burning, because the phone has vanished into the depths of this nightmare.
This week felt like an unending avalanche of tasks and the relentless drive to prove my worth—I barely had energy for anything, let alone my evening rides, though I still sneaked out for a “quick and dirty” spin around the neighborhood to remind myself I’m alive.
But when even that feels like too much, I scroll back to November 28th at the Seattle Aquarium and stare at this school of convict tangs—black-and-white stripes gliding through the water like synchronized dancers. There’s a weird comfort in their silent chaos, that effortless flow. I remember pressing my face to the glass, watching the light bend and ripple, feeling tension melt out of my shoulders.
Tonight I’ll pretend each PagerDuty buzz is just a bubble I can pop—instant calm, zero drowning. Weird trick, but hey, it beats listening to a screaming phone. Here’s to quieter dives ahead. Wait … I hate water. WTF?
Disclaimer: I used Sora to clean up my images for this post, though all thoughts and experiences are entirely my own.
