Conversely, one can use an adrenaline rush from a really disconcerting event to up and do something “merely disturbing” afterwards.
I once had to check whether a habitat we monitored was completely turned into a construction site. It was unpleasant, and I kept postponing it, because 1) the place I remembered of old was rather wild, considering it lied at the edge of a city, and the difference was stark—I literally felt my feet burn, 2) the wardens had dogs, and 3) there was a slight time cost.
However, one day I was coming home from college and there was a red-faced man of middle age lying on the sidewalk with an unfocused leer on his face and a cut on his wrist, with a blob of drying blood on it. People walked around him, and kioskers threw him rather angry glances. I thought then that perhaps he had tried to cut himself to bleed to death, but was too drunk for it, and that I probably should do something about it. So I bought two cups of cocoa and bothered him into going to sit on a bench nearby, and then, well, had the most objectively hilarious conversation with a man in my whole life, thinking all the time fifty meters to the underground—hit him with my bag—gotta scream really loud—why aren’t we drinking etc. Then, thankfully, he rambled off to the underground, and I went on to my bus stop. I could fly. Checking out that blasted construction site was a lark.
Conversely, one can use an adrenaline rush from a really disconcerting event to up and do something “merely disturbing” afterwards.
I once had to check whether a habitat we monitored was completely turned into a construction site. It was unpleasant, and I kept postponing it, because 1) the place I remembered of old was rather wild, considering it lied at the edge of a city, and the difference was stark—I literally felt my feet burn, 2) the wardens had dogs, and 3) there was a slight time cost.
However, one day I was coming home from college and there was a red-faced man of middle age lying on the sidewalk with an unfocused leer on his face and a cut on his wrist, with a blob of drying blood on it. People walked around him, and kioskers threw him rather angry glances. I thought then that perhaps he had tried to cut himself to bleed to death, but was too drunk for it, and that I probably should do something about it. So I bought two cups of cocoa and bothered him into going to sit on a bench nearby, and then, well, had the most objectively hilarious conversation with a man in my whole life, thinking all the time fifty meters to the underground—hit him with my bag—gotta scream really loud—why aren’t we drinking etc. Then, thankfully, he rambled off to the underground, and I went on to my bus stop. I could fly. Checking out that blasted construction site was a lark.