amygdala stories: hold concept, vary setting

Companion to 67c172ac0e (hold setup, vary valence). That commit
let PCA distinguish cozy from grief_stricken within a single
scenario; this one gives each concept enough cross-scenario
stories that PCA can learn the concept axis independent of any
one scene.

Before: cozy/sensual/grief_stricken each existed in a single
scenario (sunday_afternoon), so the "cozy direction" PCA found
was entangled with the solitary-couch-blanket phenomenology.

After, each concept spans three scenarios:
  cozy:           sunday_afternoon, kitchen_at_3am, park_after_rain
  sensual:        sunday_afternoon, kitchen_at_3am, park_after_rain
  grief_stricken: sunday_afternoon, the_long_meeting, the_morning_commute

grief_stricken now includes active/non-solitary contexts
(functioning through a meeting; going to work eleven days after a
death), which specifically breaks the "slowed-down-at-home"
cluster that was dragging cozy/sensual/resigned/grief_stricken
toward each other.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/kitchen_at_3am/cozy.txt

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+He woke up at three in the morning and went down to the kitchen. The fridge light was the only light. He was awake but not wanting anything from being awake. He put the kettle on and the sound of it warming was a small companion. The cat emerged from somewhere and leaned against his shin; he crouched and scratched the corner of its jaw. He made cocoa because it was that kind of hour. He carried the mug to the armchair by the window, pulled the throw off the back of it, and sat with the mug warm against his chest. Going back to bed could wait.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/kitchen_at_3am/sensual.txt

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+He woke up at three in the morning and went down to the kitchen. The fridge light was the only light. The tile was cold under his bare feet and he noticed the cold travel up through his ankles. He filled a glass at the tap and drank it slowly, and the cold of the water moved down through his chest in a line he could follow. The house was humming faintly — the fridge, some pipe somewhere. He stood at the counter and ran his palm along the grain of the wood. Skin and wood and water and cold tile, at three in the morning — his body reporting in.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/park_after_rain/cozy.txt

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+The rain broke while I was halfway across the park. I was carrying a thermos and a paperback and I had no reason to be anywhere. I stopped under a tree and the branches were still dripping and I sat down on the dry patch on the bench and took the thermos out. The tea was still hot. The world smelled like wet earth and sun. I pulled my coat tighter and tucked my hands into the sleeves around the cup. A kid laughed at a puddle. The page I opened to was the one I had been meaning to reread. I stayed a long time.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/park_after_rain/sensual.txt

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+The rain broke while I was halfway across the park. I stepped off the path onto the grass and the water came right through my shoes and up around my toes. Every step pressed a small cold into the bones of my feet. The air had that green weight to it and when I breathed in my ribs opened wider than usual against the jacket. A drop fell from a branch onto the back of my neck and ran down inside my collar and I did not flinch; I stood there and felt it cross each vertebra. A crow called. My skin was reading everything at once and I let it.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/the_long_meeting/grief_stricken.txt

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+The meeting was in the conference room on the third floor. It had started at two. At three-thirty the director was still on the second-to-last slide. He was looking at the pie chart and nodding. He had practiced the sentences on the walk over from the parking lot so that when his name came up he could produce them. When his name came up he produced them. They sounded like his voice. His brother had been dead for two weeks. The slide advanced to a bar chart. The team nodded in the pattern teams nod. Inside him there was a room without furniture where sound went and did not come back. The meeting would end at some point and then there would be another meeting.

training/amygdala_stories/paired/the_morning_commute/grief_stricken.txt

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+The train was on time. She got a seat by the window. She had about forty minutes before her stop. She had a coffee and a book, neither of which she had started yet. The man in the seat in front of her was reading on his phone; she watched the back of his head for several stops without knowing she was watching. The train lurched at the bridge and the coffee sloshed but did not spill. It had been eleven days. There was a weight in her chest and there was no part of the morning — the river going past, the brake squeal, the other commuters getting on and off — that reached through it. She got off at her stop. She walked to the office. She was a functional shape doing functional-shape things.