Last night I left the office early, departing at 5:45. Ten hours were enough after the 14 hour numerology marathon Wednesday. When Elvis left the building that night at 10:30, the lights had gone auto-off in my office ten minutes before the last calculation had been checked and meeting files sent down the ethertube. As I shuffled out the side door into a parking lot of one, my body was vibrating like a tuning fork of worry. Were the numbers right? Would they be challenged? Would I respond assertively if they were? Music. I needed a sonic jolt to settle the vibration, but rock couldn’t stop the relentless biowaves. It was like my body was rejecting melody. I heard it above the din of numbers swimming like frenzied piranhas feasting on an unfortunate swimmer, but I couldn’t feel the rythym and my body was incapable of responding to it. I finally switched over to the local classical station which fortunately was softly streaming. I briefly passed through my kitchen long enough to maul two Megan meatballs on my way toward unconsciousness…

One brief cry from baby (Megan says she’s a toddler now, but I’m unaccepting) Madison ripped my eyelids open at 4am and immediately the high pressure flow of numbers and worry began to run. The tuning fork effect had subsided some, and I descended for my vitamin and coffee ritual that turned out to be a vitamin and methamphetamine mud surprise. Yeah, Megan had made me a sextuplet shot of espresso, straight-up. Calculations were double-checked and in some cases corrected. Maddy cried for her Papi near six. We shared a nice breakfast of fresh mango, turkey sausage and oatmeal… By 6:50 I was out the door. A few final tweaks to the presentation and then Michael Buffer said it was time. Here’s a quick video of the meeting’s opening few seconds…

I stepped through the data minefield without blowing myself up and shortly after our CEO excused himself for another meeting, my recommendation was accepted. The answers to my earlier questions were all affirmative, as was the experience. Except for the tuning fork part. I don’t recommend that. Fourteen hours of breaking down data is no different than six hours less breaking down rocks, and I’ve done both (neither in prison). I had pushed my limits and the information overload exacted a price, but also a reward. Since Wednesday, I’ve been unable to consume information (news, markets, opinion) like “normal.” Last night as I lay on the couch watching my daughter and granddaughter play without a PC, smartphone or TV news binky, calm gathered around me.