My thoughts and behavior are guided by obscure, implacable mechanisms. It's not my fault yet I'm responsible. Take perception. I can't help what I see, and once I've seen there's no unseeing. My beleaguered sensorium is often overwhelmed. Who ordered all this stimuli? Don't you think there's something inherently tawdry about three physical dimensions? Who needs depth? Curved surfaces, the play of light and shadow, it's all a little gaudy, the blandishments of the z axis. Nature programmed me to respond, and do I ever. I move in serpentine fashion over dangerous terrain. Unavailability dangles like ripe fruit. It's exhausting, who can blame me for being grumpy. A terrible minefield daily negotiated. Arousals averted, aversions aroused. How does anybody get anything done, ever?