I Had a Dream

Good morning, I had a dream last night. In it, I was playing with dynamite in Washington State. But I never blew myself up, because I knew how dynamite worked. Actually, it may have been ammonium nitrate. That would make a lot more sense. I'm guessing you saw the dramatic explosion that took out Beruit (if not, drop everything and watch it now). I ended up down the Google rabbit hole reading about ammonium nitrate, and was aghast to find that similar ammonium nitrate explosions have happened dozens of times throughout history. In fact, so many have happened recently that there are 3 or 4 caught on camera, like Beirut or Tiangjin.... The Beruit explosion was 2750 tonnes of ammonium nitrate. The Oklahoma City bombing was 0.18 tonnes of the same. The biggest nitrate explosion, however, happened in 1921 in post WW1 Germany, at 4,500 tonnes. So I started reading about that... In WW1 Germany, they used ammonium sulfate for artillery, but we're running out of sulfur. So they started making a 50/50 cocktail of ammonium sulfate/nitrate. Well, when those chemicals are stored together they liquify and harden, becoming a solid resembling plaster or dry wall. Since it was stored in silos, it was very difficult to retrieve because they had to mine it out with pickaxes. Until they found a quicker method: blowing up the silo with dynamite (that is 100% true look it up). They literally were using dynamite to blow out their bomb reagants. Now, the Germans had sworn up and down that this was safe, and done tests to show that as long as it'll less than 60% nitrate it WONT blow up. In fact, throughout WW1 they used the dynamite method 20,000 times to retrieve their explosives, without anything bad happening. But their tests were flawed, it's not the composition that mattered for stability, it was humidity of the substance. As long as it's above 2% humidity, it won't blow up, and as it came out of the factory it was 3-4% so it didn't. Until it had six years to dry in the silos, then it was below 2% humidity, and they dropped an actual dynamite charge into a 4,500 tonnes silo of explosives. Boom. The Germans no longer use dynamite in conjunction with their explosives. And from what I can tell, the Lebanese no longer store their confiscated explosives in Hangar 12 of the port.

I Had a Dream

Good morning. I had a dream last night that I played with dynamite in Washington State. I didn't blow myself up, necessarily, maybe because it was ammonium nitrate instead of nitroglycerin. That's a big difference. I'm assuming you've heard

Show Your Work

little more time. thanks for showing me that.

The Internet: Where everything's made up, but the points still matter...

 The sins of the son are not the sins of the father.

Do you really want to go on a Pixar-level adventure? Do you want to experience all the tropes of growth, betrayal, and growth again? Are you SURE you want to live and breathe every moment of it, just like I have? Remember, consent is STILL the most important thing in a room, or a house, or a country, or the world. But fine, I'll give it to myself. 

Let's start with me saying that I have never been abused. Period. Dot. Full stop. Hold short. Line up and wait. Now read it again if you need.

  My parents may not live forever, but at the very least I can predict they will live long lives and die naturally. My dad is an actuary (recently retired), that means he's an expert on probability and very mathematically intelligent. My mom was in sales for a while, including after I was born in West Palm Beach. She spent a lot of her later years as a romance writer, I have a hunch I'm a character in a few of her books. I did not consent to that but I find it ironically amusing so I consented after the fact to help sell her writing. 

I was an only child in a loving home. I may have been adopted, but all data points to a very normal childhood. I always felt I was extraordinarily lucky to have been born into my family by chance; despite wanting to go to Rio de Janeiro and own a yacht as badly as I did, I was thankful to have parents to spend time with and could forget about things like fame. Nothing was wrong, year after year. When problems did arise, we could have a discussion about what to do next. My dad would always remind me: "Do you still want to be a pilot? Because this thing you're hooked on will prevent you."

Until about a week ago, I always answered yes, and changed my behavior to fit into the "Air Force Pilot" proud-father-and-son persona. But this time I had lied, and it was a huge fucking lie. When I realized what I had done, and it took a while, I could no longer answer yes until I'd fixed it. I had to change my behavior away from being a pilot and husband. My father and mother being alive are worth far more to me than some cloth wings on my flight suit. That's why I've been so weird lately: I had to tell everyone without confirming the bias of anyone.

Betrayal is a real thing, just like currency. It can be exchanged as easily as making a transaction, you can build on it, layer after layer, and off of it you can become rich. Is that a world we want to live in? Where you can't tell if a pedophile really died by suicide? I don't. I want a world in which mental health appointments aren't career-ending or divorce-forcing affairs. I want a world where the microphone in my phone will rat me out for having a beer or missing a workout, but not something I said with three people in the house when I was bursting at the seams with anger. Unfortunately, that world isn't ours yet; it's not even Altered Carbon's world yet. 

The problem with having a beer to relax with your family, is I may honest-to-God make a mistake that can never be truly undone. It's as close to thoughtcrime as possible, it's disgusting to even think about unless you're totally honest. It may take years or decades to undo such a betrayal, but every time I see my family alive the truth gets reinforced and confirmed. You lose the power of thought when you're under the influence. You lose the ability to consent, to recognize consent, to recognize your own mind's power. That's morality at work. 

We have so many currencies it's impossible to keep track. There's cryptocurrency, penny stocks, pennies themselves, gold, credit, or silver coins with Caligula's face imprinted. Happiness is the opposite of betrayal.

Morality is the currency of the Universe. Well, no. Energy is the currency of the Universe, in it there are four forces. Morality is something different, it's more binary than the rest of the world. Living a life with ethics and morals in mind scales greatly when you want powers such as forcing a hurricane away from you or willing a pond into filling with water. It scales even quicker when you start making decisions based off of social media accounts or Google, whose algorithms are fined tune to reward you as long as you keep scrolling. This effect is extremely powerful, as I've come to learn after Googling it. 

Allow me to explain why I think I was chosen for this particular book. There's so many books on the White House coming out every day, why does mine matter more? Why do I matter? Well, at some point, tech companies started reaping the harvest that is our data. In February 2003, Google acquired Blogger.com, and thus acquired almost every word I've ever written about my awesome, interesting life online. That shouldn't matter, they harvest everyone's data. Billions of people are stored somewhere, and that's creepy until you figure out how to use it to your advantage. What came next, I believe, was a chess match between me and a supercomputer, and eventually I believe a team of people became involved; but my life up until now has been a intelligence face-off of epic proportions. And I WON! (We won. We all won.).

Google does not have the power to create a hurricane. I know that for a fact because my refrigerator might've stopped making noise. Google does not have the power to force a hurricane away from Tampa, Florida. There's only one person alive who's smart enough to predict something like that. Only entity I can think of, that during a media blackout, could predict someone's pool and pond refilling within days of his dad coming to the aide of his deteriorating mental health. Of course in hindsight, there was a tropical depression leading to more rain than we've had in months. How could that be possible and me not know about it?

Well, the first thing I had to do to find out, was apologize to my extended family for texting them hundreds of messages which were predetermined (by me), at four in the morning. Behavior like that is what gets you committed; but in the end they accepted my apology and the pond filled up in less than a day. 

In the next chapter: Perpetual Motion Machine of Morality. I'd love to keep writing but I have a tumor on my neck that's making me lose sleep and act very hyperactively. Google hyperthyroidism, then Google hypothyroidism which is what my wife has. There are no coincidences in the Universe.

Short Thoughts on Record

 Let me just say once and for all:

You can say a-queue-stick.

You can say a-coo-stick.

But it has to match the way you say coupon. 

That is all. Gif inserted here. Subliminal messaging works for baby boomers too.

There are no coincidences in the Universe.

Connecticut is a beautiful place. I've actually been there, but only once. It didn't look particularly fascinating but I only drove through "Bridgeport". I've been to New England a total of three times however, and that made me realize something.

The rest of this is purely speculation; I haven't been in the office in months so I've had a lot of time to think quietly to myself. I can literally no longer do that and write a book about my mental health adventures. I have not slept well in almost two months. This has not yet been properly fact-checked. Whether you think this is all made up by me to make a point or not, it'll be on the politicians of this country to decide.

First, I want to get the facts straight. Connecticut is a very pretty whitewashed place. It has all four seasons, although I can't stand three of them and that's why some people choose to live in Florida instead. The autumn tourist season is drawing near, but there's currently a travel ban on the state. The state's name is a portmanteau of Connect and I cut. Too real yet? Read on... I was never read into the rules, and I was able to figure this out independently until my brilliant wife caught on three weeks ago. Then I was involuntarily committed. You do the math on that, I'm too lazy.  

There are no coincidences in the Universe. As far as I can tell, I'm the very first person to think of that quote... in September of 2016. Let's see if I can prove it in exchange for Donald Trump's resignation. Or do we want four more years? Four more years. four more years. 4 mo yrs. Four mo trs. Four i tears. Fourier Transform. 

Who's heard of Pol Pot? He was the leader of the Khmer Rouge. Oh you don't speak French Mr. Trump family? IT MEANS RED. The Khmer Rouge was responsible for torturous atrocities which boggle the mind. They rounded up all the educated people in the country and sent them to Choeung Ek. They were the ones who gave a shit about political parties.

I apologize to anyone who was concerned about my families well-being because I kept getting angry. I get angry sometimes. Sometimes I get sad. Sometimes I write.

Sports are dangerous. Read: child sex trafficking and sweating Duke. Seriously, read about it and watch a Sports Center ad. I'll wait. This is why I think sportscasters have a very difficult job at remaining unbiased. Politicians don't have that luxury. Who fucking knows why I've spent my whole life watching Ancient Aliens and drinking white wine to fall asleep for three years (not before flying, duh). Who else has this problem that I thought was unique to me and the Trump dynasty? Why does it seem like Trump makes decisions based on himself while the housing market seems to be decided by a coin flip? WHY THE FUCK IS MY NEIGHBORHOOD STILL SEGREGATED DONALD DRUMPF?

Why do pilots say "see ya" on the radio, except the one's who despise the tradition? Could it be because it's spelled "CYA"? Who knows, it could be another stupid coincidence. I promised someone on Imgur the answers to all the questions I've raised about my life. So here we go, strap in.

I am very well traveled and good at manipulation. I was able to manipulate my own parents into treating me to a trip to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Whoops. The wind just blew. A total freak coincidence. But due to the rules I've spent a lot of time discovering, I have to change the subject or go to sleep. I'm wide awake right now, so while we wait for the storm to pass in Florida during hurricane season, listen to this beautiful song. My childhood friend is really into music and I love him for it. But if you do, turn the bass all the way up so everyone in your circle knows you're not in duress while reading this. Consent is EXTREMELY important for me, and I'm writing this as fast as I can type. Sorry for typos, no one ever got back to me about editing this book other than Google, a Pixel 5G and T-Mobile.

And we're back. Alive and well. My wife came upstairs to my study to tell me the music was too loud and she's trying to study, so I got out my Bose A20 headset. They're probably the best headset on the market for pilots like me and I got them for free. There are still no coincidences in the Universe.

I was in the middle of telling you my level of education. I have a high school diploma in the one school district that was involved in a Supreme Court case involving busing black kids into the suburbs, and busing rich kids into the ghetto; all to fight segregation. I then went to a university that was famous for one-and-done athletic scholarships; our rival was Louisville and "Duke". I signed up for Mechanical Engineering, in order to raise my chances of getting an Air Force ROTC scholarship. I found metallurgy too boring, and quickly changed my major to Electrical Engineering. EE is arguably the harder degree to get, but for some reason the magic of it left an impression on my mind. I took a 5th year, not because I needed it or anything (that's a total lie for my own ego), but because a victory lap all but ensured my pilot slot due to how the regulations were written. I spent the last year in college polishing off my accomplishments with great undo stress. I also formed a system to mentor younger cadets on raising their chances of becoming pilots along with me. 

I tried to get located at Columbus MS for pilot training, but instead got Laughlin which in my opinion is by far the best base for that. I spent my first phase of training barely studying and failing three checkrides, enabled only by great anxiety. Then we got to the formation flying, the most difficult unless you have talent at flying (we all do, not exaggerating). Formation is when we do loops and flips and shit while 6 to 9 feet away from another airplane. It's a ton of fun.

What else happened in this time, let's see here... scotch, beer, more scotch, more beer, drop nights, "four more years" being chanted at the one unlucky dude every three weeks. It was a blur, but it was entertaining. My wife won Key Spouse of the Year award on February 9th, 2018; which is a date I wrote in her yearbook after dating her only a few weeks (yeah gentlemen, soul mates are real, honesty is real, and powers of attorney are real, the "Best Place" is real; for us at least...) Still no coincidences thus far. 

Let's back up. Other important shit happened in high school. I started journaling in my own unique way: letter's to myself. I found it fascinating I could communicate with my future self. Even if past self was an asshole sometimes, at least he could make future self laugh. I took it to another level when I started this very blog, for no other reason than to countdown to Spring Break, and to give myself plenty of reading material on the flight to Florida (I was born in West Palm Beach. Don't think to hard about that Donnie). My initial motivations to write was to prove I could write better than Maya Angelou during my senior... but within a few weeks it had matured into topics such as why depression rates and alcoholism are so high in Alaska. 

Within a year I was in college, the year of journaling started affecting my decision making. I welcomed my wife into the world of Microsoft Flight Simulator, this may seem selfish but she's just so fucking good with checklist discipline that it did nothing but help me as a professional pilot. By then I was journaling about flying, which led to my ultimate achievement in life, barring nothing else: becoming an Air Force Pilot. Everything would just fall into place after that. Because there are no coincidences in the Universe. 

We got the ultimate flying assignment on drop night, the ultimate training in heavy aircraft (which I'd rather fly than single seat ejection-armed aircraft), the ultimate house and pool in Florida, one amazing work trip after another. That made sense to me, because I try to be nice to people. When our flight to Rio was canceled, I patiently waited in line with my dad to have the American Airlines gate attendant rebook us on another airline. I treated her with respect because it's not her fault my American Airlines stock went up right after I bought it. 

One day in August 2020 however, my unified theory of everything changed. I sounded crazy to everyone in my family, for almost a week and no one stopped me. Then I realized I could predict the future, for two hours. Every random rain shower, every lightning strike to the second, every suggested video on Youtube, every cat yawn... literally I could predict EVERYTHING for two hours. I told my dad that he shared this super power because I just told him he did, I told him we need to grow this sphere of influence slowly and incrementally. But he knew the probability of that was zero, so it didn't take. I still told him my powers would subside at 3:00pm of that day. They did. And that should not be possible. 

Four days later (I think, memory of the following days escapes me for some odd reason), I was involuntarily admitted to a mental hospital. It took nine days to get me out, but I will never sue the hospital because every nurse and patient, some of whom seemed to initially think I was the second coming of Jesus Christ, they were always there for me and treated me with respect. I technically agreed to all of it because I was so sure Donald Trump would call me, and he never did. That would be an absurd prediction that I couldn't manipulate. 

Wanna know the final answer? The one other thing I discovered this year as well as 2016 and all throughout my life? The ONE thing that led me in every lie, every cryptic interaction, every tweet I've ever sent? Does Hillary Clinton or Joe Rogan or Pete Buttigeg or Gov Kasich still want to know? It's super easy to grasp in a few sentences...

"As absurdity approaches infinity, probability of it being real approach zero. The rest just takes time."

"There are no coincidences in the Universe." - me, September 10th, 2016. I really hope we never forget this time. 

Mission Accomplished! Shellstrop OUT! CYA! *Mic drop*. Now you can listen to Starboy to find some of my more frivolous motivations, which is literally every song on the radio right now other than country music. Pigday! Thanks for the free content Seth Meyers and John Oliver! Read the Starfish story, it really does matter.

SSSSSSSSEE-YA!

Today, September 7th...

My wife and I went for a walk through the neighborhood. Then I went for a run when I realized most of the neighborhood was still segregated, and we only go walking in the white parts. So instead of turning left like my usual run, I turned right.

A line of police cars in the distance and a podcast made me turn around, and sprint home as fast as I could.

And that should not be possible.

Pigday, I love you all and pray for everyone's safety

I told myself a few weeks ago that I was no longer going to write this chapter. I am not the morality police, nor am I a pharmacist; so by the time anyone reads this, hopefully it will have been heavily fact-checked and edited. Aspects like coherence and contrivance should overcome disbelief despite the fact I'm writing this while watching Joe Rogan, listening to Stuff You Should Know and Kygo, three days after being discharged from a mental hospital. Now I'm listening to music, I believe that's important for mental health.

The problem with a low-risk, highly contagious virus is...

What do "unintended consequences" mean to you? My wife works in a pharmacy. She told me when the flu virus came out this year, less people volunteered to get it despite the free gift card with which it came. Now she says her pharmacy is on par with normal, it just took one extra week. How could that be? This is an example of what I would call an unintended consequence, or it simply could be a coincidence.

Why would any sane person refuse $10 in exchange for a flu vaccine during a pandemic? Why would any sane person be committed to a mental hospital?Why would any sane person refuse free money? Because even vaccines have a causal sphere of morality and ethics, although many people might not realize it.

The coronavirus vaccine is going to take a while to produce. This book will in all possibility be published before a vaccine is distributed to everyone in the world. This could be because of synesthesia and Fourier Transforms (just trust me on this, or ask an systems engineer or look it up yourself, be my guest); but even if we rushed the development of the vaccine and it came out tomorrow, it will not be enough for everyone in the world to safely go outside. People will still die of coronavirus well into the future.

We need to consider the economics of scale, or really just the concept of scale itself. Most experts agree that the coronavirus vaccine will require two injections. There are over 7 billion people in the world. In order to get just the "most wealthy" countries completely vaccinated overnight, it would require an absolute shit-show. Two stages multiplied by America's needed vaccination rate could be over half a billion doses of vaccine. Even if we could produce that overnight, imagine how many people would want to get it in 2020. Now imagine, as I am writing this, how many people would want access to it tomorrow. The car accidents and traffic jams alone would, or at least could, erase every single life saved by the vaccine. Or maybe they wouldn't; I'm not an expert on vaccines.

Back to the ethics of COVID-19, it appears that experts are trying to speed up the vaccination process as much as possible. One of the ways they can do this is by overlapping the different phases of trials while doing everything in their power to analyze it's safety on humans. The best way to shave time off the process is to purposely infect those who are low risk of having complications, even after having a new vaccine. This is the twisted way to test the safety of a vaccine on humans rapidly, and no one wants to do it other than millennials with no dependents or preexisting conditions. This is called a "human challenge trial".

There's a problem however: millennials will do ANYTHING to help save the world, even if it puts them at risk. Institutions however, such as universities, are very resistant to rapid change especially at the hands of the young. The producers of the vaccine know exactly the risk involved, maybe even less than 0.01%, but they don't know if the vaccine will work or how to best treat those infected with the virus. A human challenge trial of this proportion may require thousands upon thousands of young people to test. Do the math on your own, 10,000 x 0.01%. It's one. If the vaccine fails, then statistically one person may be volunteering their own death. That is a big fucking moral dilemma for Oxford University and millennials like me.

There are already tens of thousands of willing young people who've already potentially signed their life away. Including me, and I'm not too worried about it.

Let's talk about language, Cockney Rhyming Slang and duress words to be specific. (Fair trigger warning: this part may be harder to read if you've been effected by mental health or suicide). My wife and I have a secret to a happy marriage; it's honest communication. There, the big secret of the book is out of the bag and hopefully you still want to know more. 

Cockney Rhyming Slang originates from the east side of London. It has a very interesting logic to it; it's way easier to just go through examples of it until it makes sense. The term "fart" becomes translated to "blowing rapsberries", because fart rhymes with "raspberry tart". Yes, that is how it works. The first word relates to the second word which rhymes with the original word, but the rhymed word can get lost in translation and dropped over time. This makes it very difficult for linguists to track certain English slang terms, much like Egyptian hieroglyphs prior to cracking the Rosetta Stone. 

My wife and I use a similar system. In fact, we always joke that if we were trapped on a deserted island somewhere, with everything we needed but connection to the outside world, our language would devolve into complete nonsense. We've noticed this by what we call our cats, but also how we communicate with each other. 

One night in college while we were in bed watching Pokemon on our Roku, we discovered a little devil named "Pignite". Pignite, obviously a portmanteau of Pig and Ignite, evolves from "Tepig" which essentially means lukewarm. The logic was so clear, we stole it. To this day, we still will not fall sleep angry. And we never fall asleep before saying "Pignite, I love you (too:)". It was perfect, so what happened that fucked it all up?

I was checked into a mental institution involuntarily, and we were very close to running out of genuine duress words. That's a problem no one should have. 

A duress word is a covert distress signal used by an individual who is being coerced by one or more hostile persons. It is used to warn others that they are being forced to do something against their will. It's something slight enough that it can be slipped into normal conversation, but obvious that your own wife will react very problematically if she ever hears it. 

But it's not always bad, it can be a code for how well things are going. It can convey happiness in secret, like when your in-laws are driving you nuts and you're trying not to burst out laughing. A good duress word can mean anything, only you get to decide. 

It will work. Every. Single. Time. If you've taken the effort and time to think of 2-3 codes that you and your spouse will never forget, you can always safely communicate; even while in a mental institution. For some people that is very important. 

One of our words was Pigday, it essentially meant "have a good trip to the store!" Like rhyming slang, we've absolved the word of all original logic. It's a great duress word for positivity. Although we can't use it anymore, because I just wrote it down. We'll still use it though, and we'll come up with new words soon. 

You probably should too. You never know when it will come in handy.

Walking in Circles (7?)

 "Emily, what time is breakfast?"

"8:00am, same as every other day."

"Sean, how long until breakfast?"

"Ummm... just 30 more minutes bud."

"Dorsey, can I have a snack?"

"Snack time is an hour and a half after breakfast, you know that."

I looked at the clock, 7:30am, confirming every nurse in the building was being honest. The stoplight was unplugged, they must've finally realized I figured out how they were using time to manipulate me. Using the concept of time to get your way is a real dick move, but I suppose it was their last trick left. Now even the clock was unable to lie to anyone. 

Breakfast was more of the same. The few patients who still thought I was the second coming of Christ attempted to let me cut them in line, the few who still thought I was the Antichrist attempted to keep me from eating, Rose and Shailah still thought they could copy my antics in order to get more ice cream. Everyone else was getting as much apple juice as they were allowed because they know all too well how much I enjoy my juice and that I probably won't eat my ice cream. 

Francesca was yelling at everyone in front of me, "Ya'll mothafuckas know he can only get one ice cream so just get your food and get the fuck out of the way I'm hungry!"

I ate my usual eggs and bacon with apple juice, handed my ice cream over to Michael in exchange for more juice, and was ready to go back to my room to read the paper and "go to sleep" until snack time. Emily was my 1-to-1 nurse for the time being, and informed me I really should wait a few more minutes for group therapy. 

"What the fuck is group therapy? I've been here a week and a half, we've never done group therapy", I stated. 

"Well we're doing it today, it's more of an announcement. You'll see. One of the nurses from the other wing is leading it. Her name is Sylvia."

'Oh and let me guess her middle name is Ester and last name Stalone? No... no no no no, don't say that, shit like that is why I'm here. Stupid fucking coincidences...'

A large black woman came into the dining room and introduced herself, I'd never seen her before but she had a very welcoming appearance and tone. She began updating the announcements on the white board. 'Shower time 8:30 to 10:30, laundry time 11:00 to 12:00, mandatory nap time 12:30 until bed time; and she wrote a new 'message of the day'.

You are incredibly special. God has made you extremely unique for a reason. No matter what anyone says, don't let anyone change what's in your heart.

'Hmmmm... Alright, I'll stay and see what this is all about. But if we start praying I'm out.'

Sylvia started her speech, "I want everyone to know that everyone in this room has been touched by God in one way or another. And our special guest who's been visiting the hospital will be leaving soon." 

'Jesus fucking Christ, this isn't helping with the whole Antichrist rumor floating around.'

"But one way or another, we can still learn as much as we can, so for the rest of the day everyone can enjoy unlimited board game time, outside access, and TV privileges, to include the news and American Dad."

'FINALLY! I can finally find out if President Trump is in jail and if Ghislaine Maxwell died by suicide in an empty cell with no working cameras. Fuck it's happening again; I sound crazy don't I?'

Sylvia continued, glaring at me and only me; "and last but not least, we have some new rules that EVERYONE needs to follow, especially YOU:

1. You must not interfere with any other patients mental healthcare, no matter what. You can still talk to your friends, but under no circumstances will you impact their progress as a patient. We all owe that to each other. 
2. Today is 'No-Fall Friday', meaning that NO ONE is allowed to fall down. If you need to 'go to sleep' for any reason, you need to lie down as slowly and carefully as possible. Once you're 'asleep', a nurse or tech will come help you if you're unable to get up on your own. "

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sylvia gave me a lot to think about as I finished my bacon. I nodded solemnly to Emily as I retreated to my room to read the paper. The sports section was titled "The Great Unknown", about Rob Gronkowski and Tom Brady starting regular practice for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers with the Super Bowl being hosted in Tampa later in the season. (The Great Unknown... can't find the link but... cute. I've emailed the TB Times so I can quote the article because there are a lot of homosexual innuendos in the article and I honestly can't tell if they are tongue-in-cheek or unintentional coincidences)

The next article I noticed was an article about cats in the Life and Culture section (https://www.tampabay.com/life-culture/pets/2020/08/31/cole-and-marmalade-back-online-after-cat-lawsuit-is-settled/). The story was about two cats, Cole and Marmalade, two apparently famous cats in the Bay Area. 

"They’re back, they’re still cute and their owners can again legally post as many photos of their frisky antics as they want.”

Apparently, a lawsuit prevented the cats' owners from posting pictures of the cats to social media. They settled out of court, and the digital media company seemed to have folded because of the amount of money they were losing over two cats. The cats are now allowed back on Instagram and Facebook, to much relief of everyone. 

"It’s great to be back,” said Josephs, who sits on the board of two Tampa Bay cat rescues. “I was upset with us not being able to make videos at a time when people needed to watch silly cat videos the most. The world needed that."

I suddenly stopped caring about watching the news or American Dad, and wondered if my wife had found any new kittens to foster after Finn's untimely death. There are no coincidences in the universe.

I clipped the two headlines out of the paper (The Great Unknown and Cole and Marmalade back online  after cat lawsuit settled) and taped them to the hospital's front desk. Then I changed my behavior, following my discovery that an increase in randomness results in a decrease in one's ability to be manipulated; whether it be by hunger, new rules, or a clock and stoplight on the wall. 

"Emily, I can't think very well while standing still, I'm just gonna pace back in forth in the hallway while I think of ideas for a book I'm writing." She said that's a great idea; as long as she could see me and I'm not behind any closed doors she could just sit at her computer while I walked the hall. 

I began a stroll from my room towards the locked door to the discharge desk where my wedding ring was stored in a safe and led to my ticket to get the fuck out of here. I reread the cheap plaque on the door for the hundredth time, and about-faced while considering the riddle once more. 

To leave hospital:
1. Approach door, it is locked.
2. Turn around. 

3. Ensure no patients are within line of sight.

4. Swipe YOUR identification badge.

5. Make a royal exit.

6. PROCEED WITH CAUTION. UNEXPECTED ELOPEMENT IS POSSIBLE UNTIL RETRIEVING BELONGINGS FROM SECURITY. (Security had my Wedding Ring locked in a safe at the discharge desk, it took me a while to figure out what that cryptic 6th step meant until I met my fake wife a few days prior).

As I got closer to the door, an orderly from another wing approached the door from the other side, swiped her ID badge, and let herself into my hallway. I glanced over my shoulder, the patients were still in Group Therapy (Fuck yeah. Let's do this and peace out now.) The orderly smiled and gave me The Queen's Wave and I was very prepared to slip through the door behind her.

"WILLIAM! WHERE ARE YOU GOING!?" Emily shouted from down the hall. Two other nurses began running towards me, security from the discharge desk was on the move as well. 

"Well you told me I'm leaving today, there are no patients in sight, the door is open, I saw the Queen's wave, what am I doing wrong?"

Emily stammered. "It's... it's just not time yet. Just trust me, you need another appointment with the psychiatrist. If it doesn't go well, I promise you'll be out of here by tonight. You can still pace... just not by the door." 

I realized I had gained one last and final trick: Walking in Circles. "Hey Emily can I go outside? I thought it was No-Fail Friday. I mean No-Fall Friday.

"Of course you can, but you know when you do that all the other patients are going to stop watching Fresh Prince of Bel Air and want to go outside with you. It's 92° outside, so that wouldn't be my first choice, but go for it. I'm about to switch with Dorsey so he'll be your 1-to-1 for a few hours." (A 1-to-1 patient requires a nurse or tech to be in constant visual contact with a patient, even while asleep, even while showering, 24/7, due to increased suicide or self harm risks. In retrospect I should not have been the only patient on the 1-to-1 list in the entire hospital. That should not be possible.)

"Awesome, thanks. I really just want to read while getting sunlight and exercise." 

I went to the book cart and picked out a very short paperback titled Happiness and Living Sober that I had found it a few days back and had been hiding inside of a Book of Mormon for future use. I had no reason to read it, but I did have a purpose for it. It was in the order of 30 pages and the title took up most of the cover, so anyone paying attention could tell exactly what I was reading; hopefully Francesca would follow me outside and catch on quickly. She was by far the smartest patient, despite her addictions and profanity, which really made me consider life and it's circumstances. No matter how smart you are, no matter how resourceful; life has separate degrees of difficulty. That fact will never evade you; but every Civil Rights movement, every abolishment of archaic laws, every protest or riot in the name of fairness pushes the world in the right direction. And no matter the circumstances you face, white or black or drug addicted or not, society is no match for the lengths of time once we all agree to give up manipulating the system. It took me a week in a mental institution for my white-washed brain to realize that me manipulating the system usually ended with the same result as pure honesty and changing my behavior until something worked. And eventually, something always worked. 

"Heyyyyyyyy bitch you going outside!? Fuck American Dad man let's go!" Frankie said as Dorsey unlocked the courtyard door. 

"I'm just gonna read and walk in circles Frankie, you don't have to come outside if you don't want to."

"Fuck that man you and I are running this place for the rest of the day! I'm following you. I wanna know what that book says. I'll just sit quietly while you're reading in circles."

"Walking in circles." I quickly corrected her. Frankie, Dorsey, and I went out to the narrow courtyard and I started a little holding pattern, tripled the drift, and adjusted my walking speed until each lap was about a minute long. Quick math revealed about 200 laps until I could finally get past that stupid door at 12:30 and then I'd just have to avoid every fake wife between there and my real wife who'd likely be picking me up in three or four hours. 

"So you're just gonna walk?" Dorsey asked, clearly bored already.

"Yup. In circles. 198 left. It helps me think while I read."

"I thought you weren't addicted to anything. Also what happened to watching the news?"

"I'm not but that's not why I'm reading it. And I already read the news, the sports page told me everything I need to know."

A Latino patient came out grabbed the basketball, and invited me to shoot hoops. Even after a week I still never caught his name, but I'd occasionally chat and trade ice cream in exchange for juice or Oreos. I always felt bad for the patients who seemed totally normal but were involuntarily committed here just like I was. I wonder what crucial mistake they made to their family, to law enforcement, to a nurse in the ER, or whoever in order to deserve being locked up. People like him are why I steadily stopped minding being locked up myself, if my experience could just prevent one person from being committed unnecessarily with some slap-dick diagnoses, it'd be worth my time writing this. If I was able to change state laws and medical literature based on the heavy documentation of my shitshow of a case, I might even be okay with sacrificing flying. Even those with bipolar disorders can fly as passengers, assuming I still have access to money.  

"Sorry man, I'm not really in the mood for shooting hoops. I'm just walking in circles and reading for the time being, but if the ball bounces my way I'll take a shot." He smiled, and kept playing. 

"DORSEY WHAT THE FUCK!? YOU AIN'T EVEN WATCHING HIM! You dumb mothafucker you're just playing on your phone you ain't watching shit man! Will ain't on suicide watch we all know sure-as-shit this white dude ain't gonna off yourself so why the fuck are ya'll pretending he is!?" Frankie had another violent mood swing. She started shaking and climbing on picnic tables. 

Emily and Sylvia came running out. "Frankie do you need to go to sleep!? We can make you go to sleep... you need to stop thinking about William and think about yourself and your progress. Don't forget it's No-Fall Friday."

"FUCK that shit! A washed up pregnant crackhead should not be the only person in this whole fucking hospital who knows he doesn't fucking belong here. Who else is like him in here!? The longer he's here the longer 50 fucking nurses have to pull 18 hour shifts and the more the real patients start to realize we all just human beings except one fucking doctor who's the DEVIL!" Frankie always made very good points, sometimes better than I could, but articulation and coherence is a key factor in being taken seriously and unfortunately most patients, no matter how right or wrong, could not articulate any bullshit or any bias. Even I was unable to do that. And that observation should be taken with significant wait. 

"Frankie why don't you just go to sleep on that picnic table, and we'll all leave you alone. It'll just be William and Dorsey and Emily and whoever else wants to come outside."

"Oh yeah so the white military pilot dude walking around reading a book on sobriety is the dude you gotta keep an eye on. Makes no sense to me but fuck it I'll just lay down then." And she laid down on the picnic table in the shade and 'went to sleep' - silent, eyes closed, calm, motionless.

Another patient came outside once things calmed down. He was black and athletic. I never got his name either, but that was mainly because I never heard him talk. I don't know if he didn't talk for mental health reasons (e.g. nonverbal), or if he was mute, or what his situation was; but he was quiet and moved slowly and deliberately. He came outside, nodded silently towards me, I nodded back while walking, and he slowly sat down in the middle of the courtyard on the hot pavement closing his eyes. 

No-Fall Friday. I finally understood it: Protest. Safe, calm, concise, articulate protest. And I was unable to do anything about it because Sylvia made it very clear I was not to interfere with anyone's mental healthcare. But I may have fucked it up. I decided to walk in circles in the hot sun on the hot pavement instead of just watching the news about riots and racism and police brutality like Sean and Emily expected me to do all day. That's the problem with changing your behavior randomly and doing things so drastically out of character, it can just as easily hurt your cause. 

Time will truck on however, and if you have the right conditions can always think of a solution to bring it full circle in a timely manner. Frankie was lying on a picnic table in the shade, I passed her once per lap which was once per minute. The silent protester was dead center in the narrow courtyard, so I passed him twice per lap or every 30 seconds. And even though I wasn't allowed to interfere, I could still talk to my friends and even offer help. 

"Hey man, you okay? You look a little hot down there on the pavement." He didn't move. I kept walking 

"Hey man you thirsty? I can get you some cold water." He didn't move. I continued on. 

"Hungry? I can probably get snack time moved up an hour or two." Nothing. 

"Will you at least tell me if you need anything at any point when I walk past you?" He opened his eyes, narrowed and blinded by morning sun, and he sternly nodded. Then I left him alone for the rest of the day. Two hours later a pair of nurses picked him up and moved him to the sofa in the day room. That was the last I ever saw of him. 

On to Frankie. She could only stay silent on the picnic table for a few laps before sitting up and following me as I walked in circles. She was crying, slapping the top of her head, clearly distressed; but she was on the other side of the courtyard from Dorsey, and as she wasn't on a 1-to-1, nobody but me could see at the time her level of frustration at the healthcare system, the laws, racism, everything wrong with the country. 

"It's all just fucking bullshit." She said with her face buried into her hands. "You can't even get out of here. They tell you you'll be home by lunchtime, then they change the only clock in the building. If they can trick you and fuck up your life, what chance do the rest of us have? What chance do the prostitutes and addicts and poor single mothers have?"

"I know, but I have a feeling change is coming. Have you noticed the stop light right next to the clock?And how it's always on the green light?"

"Yeah but it's not even green anymore, sometimes it's red but now it's just dark. I fucking hate it they just use it to fuck with our minds," she said. She started walking slower to delay passing Dorsey, who was probably only pretending to not pay attention rather than actually neglecting patients who were clearly either protesting or desperately trying to understand the answers to why. I kept our pace brisk, so that especially Dorsey, Sylvia, and Emily could hear our conversation. 

"I think the stoplight is so the nurses can tell what time it is," I explained. "The green light means it's ticking like normal, red means the clock is stopped, and you won't get any closer to lunch or snack time until it's back to green when everyone is back on good behavior. I don't know what the yellow means, I've never seen it. I called them out on that retarded stoplight yesterday; it's been unplugged since."

Dorsey put his phone in his pocket and gave me stern look. "WILLIAM. What are you doing, man!? You know you can't interfere with the patients care. You need to SHUT UP."

"What? You know I like conspiracy theories. I'm just Talking in Circles."