My head is rising from a dense summer project and I realize that I have a monogamous intellect (if you can call it intellect at all).  I love to lock on to a subject to the exclusion of all else until the job is done.  Now, don't get me wrong, I can multi-task with the best of them, but my imagination is engaged elsewhere, in the full-time work of solving the central problem confronting me. It's as if my mind is an infra-red telescope on the top of a rifle and can't disengaged until the prey is shot.

I admire the intellectually promiscuous, those who can move gracefully from one idea to the next.  Make progress on many ideas at once.  I met someone this summer who wrote a 250 page novel in 3 months time.  She had no idea how the narrative would unfold, she simply wrote.  But what amazed me most is she admitted having 'fifteen" other story lines in her head.

So I'm happy being monogamous.  My ideas don't have to be jealous of each other or vie for my attention.  But I do wonder how that celestial fire burns in promiscuous thinking.