The revision cave is a nice place to live. It’s quiet and dark. There are no bright lights and no loud noises. Or maybe there are, but you certainly can’t be counted on to notice them.
There is no such thing as laundry in the revision cave. There are no dishes to wash, no plans. The gym is a thing of the past, and so is vacuuming. News, politics, and series television grind to a halt. The world stalls.
Occasionally, there are anxiety dreams involving carnivorous rabbits that dig all the way down to the water main and flood your basement. You try to shoo them away, but they are, unfortunately, carnivorous. So you get a stick and poke at them half-heartedly. This is a metaphor for revision, even if you have no idea what it means.
In the cave, in the dark, everything is a metaphor for everything else. Sometimes, not a very good one. You consider all the ways that language feels inadequate, and then use it anyway.
Sometimes, you look around and discover with delight that there is coffee.