How weird do you get with your git messages? And no, I'm not talking about tracking features and hotfixes. You know that feeling when you're deep in the zone, making changes at a dizzying pace, and your commit messages start to look like cryptic poetry? That's what I like to call the Code Cocoon. It's that state where you're so focused on the task at hand that the outside world fades away, and it's just you and your code.
It's a state fueled by caffeine (and let's be real, cookies are a lifesaver), and you become a coding octopus. Hands in every file, deploying, testing, writing, and iterating like there's no tomorrow. And then there's the Commit Haze. It's that point in the Code Cocoon where your commit messages take on a life of their own. They become this stream-of-consciousness narrative that only makes sense to you in the moment. Song lyrics, random thoughts, inside jokes—they all find their way into your commits.
But here's the thing: we've all been there. These weird git messages are like rites of passage for developers. They're proof that you're not just writing code, but you're living and breathing it. And sure, when you look back at those commit messages later, you might scratch your head and wonder what the hell you were thinking. But in a way, they're like little time capsules of your mental state during those intense and exhausting coding sessions.
It reminds me of something I read somewhere—imagine if we put a face to our code. At some point, we all put a face to our codebases and treat them as living, breathing entities. They have quirks, moods, and stories to tell. And did I mention my superpower of sensing the codebase's mood via git push rhythms? Still waiting for Marvel to give me a call.
