Day 42

Last Night!

Yes, yes, this is my last night in PPD... until my next study anyway. The hours have crawled more than I hoped they would, but the day is, in fact, almost over, and I will soon breathe air again.

So here's the rest of my schedule with PPD:
6:29 pm - Dinner
9:24 pm - Blood draw
20:29 pm - Snack
1:24 am - Blood draw
8:54 am - Feel check
9:04 am - 3 minute sit
9:07 am - Vital signs
9:24 am - Blood draw
10:54 am - Urine collection
11:04 am - 5-minute supine
11:09 am - 12 lead ECG
11:24 am - Blood draw
11:39 am - Physical
11:45 am - Collect subject's weight
11:46 am - Exit search
12:00 pm - Check out

So there's that.

I somehow managed to get into my first real religious argument in 42 days on today, the forty-second day. And then there was a second one an hour later. I'm not sure argument is the right word, because arguments require two people, but it was definitely a discussion I had wanted to avoid. Oh well though, it wasn't entirely a bad thing.

I was sitting there with a guy who very strongly anti-religion. He and I have talked about religion several times, and I have strongly held the opinion that religion can definitely be dangerous because it is often misused and misunderstood, but that I didn't think that made the whole thing "evil". However, because of the guy's personality, I had felt it would be better not to make the argument too personal, so I had never admitted to having any faith of my own and he never asked. The argument never got anywhere because his grudge is neither personal enough to be sympathized with or intellectual enough to be argued against. Just... acquired, picked up along the way, and never doubted.

I'm playing a board game with that guy when another guy, who I haven't talked to very much, walks up and randomly asks, "Seth, do you believe in God?" Now, the people who I do talk to regularly (neither of the two I was with at the time) do know my beliefs a little. They know my father is a pastor (which I have found to be the easiest route into a talk on faith because so much of my story is then assumed, and largely right) and when they asked what denomination of Christian I claim to be I told them: "Just Christian." Response: "So, non-denominational?" Me: "Eh, if you have to put me somewhere, maybe. I prefer the term a-denominational. Or all-denominational." response: "Protestant?" me: "Mostly." Those conversations have always been pretty open-minded and cool.

But this guy today, without any larger context in which to discuss faith, asks me if I believe in God. So, I look him in the eye and say: "Yes, I do." Then he asks, "Do you believe Jesus died on the cross to save us from our sins?" This is where I may have made a mistake. I'm not sure. I answered, "I believe Jesus died on the cross." He answers, "But you don't believe he died to save us from our sins?" I answered truthfully, "Levonte, I don't know why Jesus died on the cross exactly. It's very confusing to me, and I don't think anyone actually has a clear idea of why he died. I kind of think his death wasn't nearly significant as his life or resurrection." Anyway, things kind of degenerated from there. As soon as I realized that he was offended by this statement, I was quick to explain that the fact is that I don't know the truth any better than he does, so he could definitely be right and I could be wrong, but that I didn't think the why matters as much as the result. There was at this point a crowd of people standing around listening to the argument, but not joining in. They were more okay with my answers than Levonte was. Eventually, Levonte walked off, unsatisfied, and looking a little betrayed, I think. I was sorry to see that.

Immediately, several of the more anti-religious people in the audience, including the guy I mentioned earlier, started bad-mouthing Levonte and explaining that he was an example of the problem with religion, that his blind adherence to doctrine was idiocy and blah blah blah. I kept defending him, saying that his faith is simple, maybe immature, but that Levonte is still a young guy and he has a passion and drive that I admire. I said that his faith means a lot to him and they should take it seriously for his sake, even if they don't believe it. Eventually, as they got further down the path of religion-bashing, I just said, "Look guys, I believe almost everything that Levonte does, and we probably agree on everything that really matters. When you talk about his belief, you're talking about my belief." This shut them up, and there weren't even - I think - any hard feelings. If anything, they seemed maybe impressed by my resolve. I dunno; I'm not interested in proselytizing or making them like me.

Anyway, maybe two hours later, over lunch, someone started it up on evolution with a guy in here who he knew didn't believe in evolution. Actually, the conversation started over something Tito said about how some seeds can fertilize and grow into plants in your stomach, which everyone disagreed with completely and then he said that cockroach eggs can hatch in your body and kill you. Everyone thought that was ridiculous too, and he eventually claimed that it was science that he had seen for himself on some tv show, and all we had to do was go find the science ourselves. Then Wallace launched into Tito, saying that how could Tito (who doesn't believe in evolution) believe in one part of science and not in another. They all went at it for a while. I was sitting right across from Wallace, and I told him it had not been right to bring that up in this setting, that he was just stirring trouble. After a few minutes, Tito left, and Wallace stirred it up again! Asking everyone, "I was right, wasn't I? How could he?" And once again I found myself defending someone I didn't agree with. I said that Tito wasn't stupid or illogical, just misinformed. He had never really been taught, probably, the overwhelming evidence for evolution, and people - probably his parents - told him that it was just a theory. I told them that they were right: it is just a theory. It's a good theory that observation backs up, and that I believe it, but that they should all understand that they could all be wrong, and maybe Tito was closer to right than any of us. I said that a lot of men much smarter than me believed for a long time that the earth was the center of the universe because that is what they observed. I also argued that Tito had been taught that he had to either choose religion or science, faith or reason, and never both. That if evolution was right, that the whole Bible would crumble, and his faith would be meaningless. One guy nodded his head and talked about long-earth creationism.

After a few minutes, the talk turns from evolution and religion to the real heart of the matter, which was the ways in which several guys had been hurt by the church. One guy said that his mother was kicked out of the Catholic church because her parents divorced then she was kicked out of the Methodist church because she was hanging out with a married man that she didn't was married. Guilty by association, he called it.

At this point, I had to leave anyway, for a blood draw, so I just said. "Man, that sucks. I'm sorry about that. It's crazy how many people from the men who flew the plane into the World Trade Center to the people in those churches really don't get the whole point of their religion, what's in their book. Really sad." Then I had to go.

I guess I'm glad these conversations happened. I'm glad they happened on the last day, because I've never wanted to be defined by what I believe as much as by how I believe it. While I wouldn't lie about my beliefs or hide them, if my 'christian' label makes it hard for someone to hear me, I'd rather talk to them as just co-people discussing something that matters to us both, because that's what we are. Just two people.

Whew... 16 hours left!

Day 41

Well, tonight was The Last Supper. Not the last supper but The Last Supper. We eat tomorrow night, of course, but today is the last normal day, and there was a definite sense of things winding down and ending over dinner. A lot of laughter, and I wasn't the only one to hang around the table until long after I had finished eating. And, as Tai put it, "Boys, it's been real. And it's been fun. But it hasn't been real fun." Another round of laughter.

Tomorrow is a Kinetics Day, which means lots of blood draws. The consensus is that tomorrow will fly by pretty fast, because we are kept relatively busy. That's why today, the last of our once seemingly-endlessly monotonous days, has seemed a bit like our last day in here.

The downside, of course, is that I don't get to leave when I wake up, but have another day. Still, it should go by pretty quickly.

I spent most of my day today writing a story. I guess I wrote and rewrote about 6 pages before giving up in disgust. The file is still on my computer, in my "incomplete projects" folder, but I doubt I touch it again. I wish I could explain to myself what is missing from the story that made it so inflexible until I gave up, but I can't. I am in a little bit of a funk right now, writing-wise: I feel pretentious messing with poetry and can't find a natural rhythm but when I try to write prose, words seem inflexible, cold, and lifeless. If that makes any sense. I'm really hoping that it comes from being in here. In fact, today was the first day since shortly after I came to PPD that I had even a sense for writing something, and it was while I was feeling how close freedom is. I think (and hope) that the sterile monotony of this place stifles any creative impulses in me. Which is sort of a shame, because I had hoped that having 40 days with nothing to do would be a perfect dedicated time for writing. As long as I am able to write, which is an act of creation that I really enjoy, when I get out, I'm okay with it.

The past six weeks have served a different purpose than writing.

And now? And now I think I will... I dunno... read a book or something. See if I can will myself to concentrate on it.

Day 40

So the chess champ that I thought yesterday I could beat? Yeah.. no. We played two games, and the second was much closer than the first. I think with a few more games, I could beat him, but for now I am defeated. I'm playing with someone else in a few minutes, as soon as he finishes his dinner.

This afternoon, it was remarkably difficult to concentrate. I was trying to read, but my mind would be anywhere except in the book. Well, not anywhere. Specifically, my mind was on stuck in Wednesday. Next Wednesday. I am a flitting bee trapped in a mammoth's frozen body, sensing the signs of global warming and freedom. Haha... whatever that means.

I want to smell a campfire. In fact, in my dreams, I keep smelling a campfire. But then, my dreams have been weird lately. I can't often exactly remember them, so I can't describe them, but the fact that I am dreaming consistently (and remembering that I am dreaming) is unusual enough. When I do remember the dreams, they're highly emotional dreams about the absolutely most mundane things possible. A nightmare where I find out that I forgot to pay a bill. Every night for a week, I have dreamed about the day I get out, and it's never actually a good dream. Something always goes wrong. They decide I have to stay an extra month. Or I go straight from here to waiting tables at Macaroni Grill and have a generally miserable shift. Or I walk out of here and no one picks me up, so I wander Austin aimlessly for hours and hours. Like I said weird... in a completely everyday kind of way.

I don't think I've slept very well a single night I've been in here, but it's getting worse. I woke up at 4 this morning (after going to bed at midnight) and didn't ever really fall asleep again until I gave up at 9. The funny thing is though that I'm not tired either. I used to take an afternoon nap religiously to pass the time, but I don't anymore, because I can't fall asleep. There's only so much lazing around a body can do.

All good though. Restless nights and weird dreams and all, I still like going to bed. I drift in and out of sleep thinking, "When I get up, I'll be one day closer to the last day." So all's good.

Day 39

So I won a game of poker today, and I have to admit that I am proud of myself for that. This is the first game I can think of that I won completely by skill (instead of luck) against people who play poker a lot and well. I exercised patience and folded most of my hands. I bit the bullet when I had to and let go of hands that I wanted to win. I bought the pot when I could tell they wanted an excuse to leave. I bullied when I had to, and after big wins, when I would normally get impatient and start throwing money around, I kept playing as cautiously as I did at the beginning. Normally I get one big win and then I go all in on the next marginally good hand, sure of my luck, and lose everything. Patience has never been a virtue I've excelled at, but PPD teaches patience pretty well.

Anyway, I played hard because the prize was a DVD I wanted, which I won. So I spent the afternoon watching all three and a half hours of The Godfather, Part II.

So between poker and the movie and a little bit of reading this morning, my day went by pretty fast.

The took us on a walk this evening, which was nice. I saw the moon - kissing the horizon - for the first time in 39 days. Now, I've promised someone I would play him at chess. He's the ruling champion right now, and I think I might be able to beat him. After that, it's Risk!

You stay classy, Austin!

Day 38

Plenty of drama today. The guy I mentioned a week or so ago who got docked almost a thousand dollars for being late was kicked out today. With 4 days left. The rumor is that he continued to consistently be late, gave a lot of lip, and got in trouble for talking on the phone last night after lights-out, which he has gotten in trouble for before. Poor idiot. Anyway, so... he was yanked out of bed this morning and a couple of the larger, more masculine techs held the door to his room open and watched him pack, then escorted him out of the facility. He emailed someone today to say that he was paid $2 a night for the past 37 nights, which is PPD's worst punishment. He was a little lucky that we had already been given one check for $2500, because - even though he won't get any more money - that's still much more than the $2/night that they want to pay him. So, 4 days left out of 42, the guy gets 2500 dollars.

They also kicked out someone in the redshirts for being late, and I hear they kicked out 3 teal shirts (who are in a different wing than us, but we can see them through the one window that connects their wing to ours), also for being late. I guess they're cracking down. I think that may be the fault of the guy in our study. He was throwing fits and met with the "Subject Advocate" to complain that the docking system is unethical. I have a feeling he stirred the fire a bit.

Also, the guy I mentioned a while back - the one who has a wife with two kids and a girlfriend who he loves - has been fooling around with this girl in here for the past three days or so in ways that should get him kicked out of the study. Probably would get him banned from future studies, but I'm definitely not going to interfere there. Anyway, it doesn't matter now, because that girl left her study today. The guy and the girl were both chastised and docked for being too close physically and messing around in public, etc. Apparently someone in another study who knew of the misbehavior (everyone knows of the misbehavior) was also threatening the girl, threatening to report her, so the girl just left the study.

The girl is exactly the kind of woman every father should warn every son against as strongly as possible. The man is the kind of man every father should warn every daughter against as strongly as possible.

Too much drama, my friends. Way too much drama. All's good though. I'm not getting paid $2 a night. I'm a few days from freedom.

Day 37

You know, some days seem to be so filled. Like yesterday, it was as if the day was one long movie, as I read one long book. Which, by the way, was excellent. Today, I did more individual things, but it seems like I accomplished so little! A couple hours here and a couple hours there and then I'm sitting at the end of the day, dinner is over, and I'm wondering where my day went.

I spent the morning reading the second half of Genesis, finishing just before lunch. After lunch, I listened to more of "The Great Transformation". I actually took notes while listening, because - as interesting as I find the material - I have found it nearly impossible to stay focused, and have grown increasingly lost in all the names and terminology. So I have about 10 pages of notes from about three hours of book-listening. Somewhere in the middle of that, I took an hour and a half nap.

I guess it's a good thing that these last few days are speeding by so quickly, but I hate to end this little sojourn with a feeling of incompleteness. Then again, maybe that's the best way to leave my isolation. I think Confucius was right: spiritual growth is only possible in community, when altruism is possible. "How can one serve the gods until one can serve mankind? How can one know of the dead until one knows of the living?" So maybe walking out of PPD with a stack of books left to read and a million concepts I wish I understood better is not only inevitable, but completely desirable. Hmm...

I have to say that I'm hardly in a condition of isolation now, but this is nothing like community. I made one guy mad at me this morning by insisting that he's being a conspiracy theorist to think that the authorities here at PPD are intentionally lying to us for no obvious reason. Another guy has been hounding me with "an incredible cash making opportunity" and I don't have the heart to tell him to leave me alone, so I try to avoid him when I can. Speaking of him, I told him i would look at his online presentation tonight and tell him what I think. Once I look at it, I'll tell him I'm not interested.

Speaking of the guy who got mad at me this morning... he is ridiculously on edge these days. He's not the only one, but he's definitely exemplary. While we were standing in line to dose this morning, we had the little argument described above, where I and another guy both wanted to know why PPD would lie to us, and the first guy yelled at me right as I walked into the dosing room.

While I was in there, someone ran in and used the phone to call Kelly, our coordinator, saying "Can you get down here? Just come now. We've got a big situation with T-F," which is the man previously described (as if I didn't know his initials by this point). I was sure he had his someone and was about to get sent home. After I dosed, I saw Kelly and T-F and a paramedic go into a room and shut the door.

Turns out after I left, the paramedic came out and told everyone to quiet down, and the other guys nodded and said "we're cool, we're cool," but our friend got up in his face and told the paramedic to chill and stay out of it.

The guys who told me this story were laughing about it, but agreed to all be somewhere else by the time T-F came out. So I don't know what ended up happening in the room with the paramedic, and I don't intend to find out.

Besides that little explosion today, everyone has been pretty cool, but not out of camaraderie, but rather a sense that everyone's nerves are a bit on edge, and you don't know who might snap next. Everyone walks on eggshells. Oh, I forgot about another funny incident. Nothing really except that over lunch one guy passionately certain that beef is a meat that absolutely cannot - for health reasons - be served less than completely brown, and some of us were passionately certain that he had no idea what he was talking about and often says things he knows nothing about. Nothing happened there, because everyone silently realized we were arguing about the doneness of meat and we shut up. There was no laughing at the ridiculous nature of the argument though.

Disagreements between the picky eaters and the ones who are tired of hearing from the picky eaters are fairly easily settled by just saying, "well, you know, you don't have to eat a hamburger here after this meal." Which is true: every meal we eat is our last time for that meal."

Standard hallway greeting:
"What's up, Joe?"
"5 days, Seth."
"5 days."

So, in the name PPD, I bid you 5 days!

Day 36

I spent almost the entire day reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and I have about two hundred pages left. Since I started reading it this morning and it's over 750 pages long, I think that's good. I was never one to revel in an ice cream cone or a book, but suck it down whole, reveling in the speed with which that pleasure became only a memory. I read the 1st through 3rd Harry Potter books in one overnight session.

I wasn't actually planning on reading this book, honestly. I didn't read the 6th book, and as I have read this one, I don't think I ever finished reading the 5th book either. However, my dad was kind enough to surprise me with it during visitation on Saturday. So last night, I found book notes for the 6th book to get caught up and plunged into the 7th book this morning. Even then, I had to find the "Harry Potter Lingo" website and refer many times to it for forgotten creatures, curses, and people.

Considering the pile of books in my room and on my iPod, I don't regret my avoidance of Harry Potter, even though I have very much enjoyed the book so far. I think the problem is that Harry Potter is best read at a dead sprint without stopping for anything except breath and food (when necessary). I guess that's what makes it good children's literature: it instills a love of reading. An addiction to literature. A complete NEED to keep flipping the pages, waiting to see what will happen next. When you're a kid, and it's summer, Harry Potter is the kind of book that offers a compelling argument that TV is not the best form of entertainment.

However, if you're not young and it's not summer, Harry Potter is a little daunting! This is my experience at least. I read the first three books in one go. I read the fourth in a few long evenings, between homework and everything else. I may have had a job at that point; I don't remember. It was definitely worth it, but it was exhausting to be swept up in something that stands in complete contrast to things like responsibilities. (Which is not to say that the imaginary doesn't matter.)

By the fifth book, my schedule was even more packed, and the book was substantially thicker, and so I started it, but an hour here and an hour there is not really enough to get into it and stay in it, so I didn't finish the book! The 6th book was even thicker than the fifth, so I just shrugged and kept thinking I would read it next time I had a couple of days with nothing to do and nothing better to read. Which, of course, never happens. Before the 7th book came out, I assumed it would be even thicker than the 6th (which I think was right) and figured I wouldn't read it.

Well, I did get a few days with nothing else to do (42 days, to be precise), and I got a copy of the 7th book, and now, after 12 solid hours of reading, I have to say I am really enjoying this book! But if I wasn't in here, I don't think it would be very good.

And yet... I am the one who grew up with Harry Potter, who read the first books when the paper was still warm from the printer! The kids who made Harry Potter a celebrity are now in their late years in college or older. I wonder how many of them stood in line at midnight for a copy of this book? And if there were many, I wonder when they sat down and read the whole thing cover-to-cover... I wonder if it was unavoidable that the first Harry Potter fans would grow into muggles before Harry defeated Voldemort, grow into adults while their childhood symbol of evil is still alive, still undefeated.

I was 11 when the first Harry Potter came out.

Speaking of Harry defeating Voldemort, I still haven't finished the book, so possibly he doesn't...? I think I will go see if I can read 200 pages in the next 3 hours or so.

Day 35

Monday. July 23. 2007. Seth is 21.

I have a pounding headache that stretches down my neck and into my shoulders. I spent too much time today laying on my bed, on my back, listening to my iPod. Each thing that I do creates a different pain in excess. Too much typing created a pain in my wrists. Too much slouching in straight-backed chairs made my lower back hurt. And now I have laid on my head wrong and my neck is killing me.

There is little to say today. One week left. Tomorrow starts the last downhill stretch, which is exciting. Maybe I will have more to say tomorrow...

Day 34

Blues music, crossword puzzles, and the taste of marginally good food still in the mouth. Possibly, but this is good enough for me now.

So today I listened to several of the podcasts that I had fallen behind on: CarTalk and two episodes of Speaking of Faith. The first episode was called "The Ethics of Eating" and was an argument in favor of buying locally and only buying what's in season. Pretty interesting stuff. The second was the history of Abraham and his two sons in the three religions that claim Abraham as father. The speaker talked about the various explanations that the different groups give for Abraham's thwarted sacrifice of Isaac. I kind of wonder if the story could be viewed as a turning point in the development of the religion when Abraham assumed that Jehova wanted a human sacrifice of the first born son, since that was fairly common practice in the day, and had a revelation on the way to the mountain, and thought, "Wait a minute... this is stupid. God should be good," and decided that Jehova did not demand blood. Dunno, I didn't hear that interpretation. That the part where the Bible says that God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac is wrong, because God didn't say that. Either way, it's still an important story because it shows the development of a good God who values morality over sacrifice. By the way, I'm kind of getting this out of The Great Transformation by Karen Armstrong. She never mentions the Abraham story, or hasn't at the point in the book where I am, but it is about the transition from tribal gods to gods of morality around the world.

I'm also about halfway through The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger, which has sucked me in. Definitely a fascinating book, and I can't make time for my other books (Like the Armstrong book) until I finish this one. I made myself stop and listen to a few podcasts because they looked interesting and they've sat untouched for a week now, and the next week's were starting to download.

Anyway, Sundays have typically been pretty lonely days, because I imagine my family and friends living it up together as is normal on Sundays, and feel left out. Today, however, went by pretty quickly and wasn't too bad. Part of that was probably that I went the first half of the day thinking that this is the last Sunday that I will be in here. It's not true; I have one more, but it was after lunch by the time I figured that out, but one more Sunday is still not that big a deal. The fact is that I have one more week of things being normal and dull, then next Monday is another kinetics day (lots of blood draws) which will fly by pretty fast, then we leave Tuesday!

I can taste it. But for now, I think I will try not to think about that too much, and focus on my crosswords. Speaking of which, I've decided that I want to get good at crossword puzzles. This is after watching the documentary, Word Play, about a crossword puzzlers, and the scenes of Bill Clinton and Jon Stewart and some songwriters doing crossword puzzles made me want to be that smart. I had the admittedly-judgmental thought while watching Clinton do a New York Times crossword: "I don't think our current president could do a crossword puzzle." So I would love to feel smarter than the president of the United States, so I'm doing crosswords these days to fill the time while I listen to my books or podcasts.

Day 33

My parents visited today, which was awesome. At the same time, it was a little hard to concentrate. Hard to make eye contact. Basically, it was hard to actually be there, in that room, in the present, because their presence had me imagining the future when we won't see each other across a table in a sterile room, but we can actually sit down and talk. And at the same time, that reminded me that - in fact - I was still in PPD, in my faded violet shirt and scrubs. We talked about the future, about when I get out, about the Renaissance School next year. It was good, and I'm glad they came, and I was definitely in a good mood when they left. I just... was distracted. Too much going on to stay focused on anything for more than 10 seconds. Maybe I'm just ADD.

Lets see, I also read If Grace is True today, which I'm still thinking about quite a bit. I won't write about it though.

At my request, my parents brought me a notebook. I think I can easily incapsulate my recent struggle over the source of beautiful writing (which I pursued by trying to figure out what made beautiful writing different from practical writing) by describing where I write stuff. For most of my college experience, most anything I have written "creatively" I have started in a spiral-bound notebook and eventually transfered to a computer to be finished and polished. By the way, when I say "creatively", I mean created with a hope for and intentional pursuit of beauty over functionality. Most of my stories and poems were written in the margins around lecture notes and my notebooks are always very messy. A few pages of lecture notes, a few pages of sketches and doodles, an incomplete story, a few pages of personal reflection about something that was bothering me at the time. Studying lecture notes for a test was as much a review of everything that had happened to me and mattered to me in the past semester as it was a review of the important information, because my class information was tough to separate from everything else that I wrote. And every time I studied I found a story idea or poem prompt that I liked.

In the past year or so, as I have become more serious about the intentionality of that creation, I've tried to move away from that messy setup. For one thing, I have always wanted to write a journal so that I can look back on it later and know what an idiot I was then and how much wiser I am now. I also like to write because the act of writing about my day seems to focus my thoughts excellently, but I wanted an actual journal I could save and refer back to, and my messy spiral notebooks were not the austere image I wanted to present to my future self. Not to mention the educational value of only taking notes when I should be taking notes, and only reviewing those notes when I should be reviewing those notes. Also, I wanted a place to write creatively, intentionally, putting aside my school and inner dramas and writing something separate.

So, I've had journals for years, mostly blank, gifts from someone who thought I should be writing, but in the past year, I started writing quite a bit in my spirals, and maybe 4 months ago, I picked up one of my old journals and have gradually tried to get in the habit of writing in that instead of in my spiral notebook. I also bought a little unlined notebook that says "The Poet's Notebook" on the front, which looked cool, so I bought it. Inside the front cover of the "Poet's Notebook" it says, "Carry this around with you everywhere. Never have it out of reach, so that when you have something to write, you can write it immediately. When you can't think of anything to write, go back through your Poet's Notebook and find something you started but couldn't finish at the time and see if it strikes you now."

I got to the point near the end of last semester when I would sit in class during the 10 minutes after I had sat down but before the professor would arrive with three, count them, three, notebooks in front of me. My spiral, my journal, and my poetry book. I would be writing in my journal, then jump over to my poetry book for a while before the professor walked in and I would switch to my spiral. Now besides looking ridiculous, that works pretty good sometimes. But most of the time, I open up my journal with the thought, "Right now, I am going to write journal stuff," but that stuff didn't really interest me at the time. Or, what happens even more, I open up my poetry book with the thought, "Right now, I am going to write something... pretty."

A week ago, I was talking on the phone, and someone was giving me phone numbers, so I clicked my pen to write. Then I looked back and forth between my poetry book and my journal (the only two books I brought with me into PPD) with a little bit of alarm, wondering where I should write down phone numbers! I ended up opening Microsoft Word on the computer and typing them there.

This is what happens inevitably. I quit writing poetry or journal because I'm not sure what fits into each category and end up getting on the computer, ideally to write, but actually to browse the internet, and whatever I might write doesn't actually come from me, flowing through my fingers. (Yes, I'm old-fashioned about pen and paper. More old-fashioned than my parents.)

So now, wonderfully, I have a thick spiral-bound notebook. And do you know what I'm going to do with it? Everything. It's going to be wonderful. When someone gives a number, I'm going to write it there. When I listen to audiobooks, I will doodle on the pages and write down words I hear that sound cool or I don't know. (I hate to admit that most of my college notes consist of words I hear that sound cool or I don't know.) If, while I am doodling, one of those cool-sounding new words lends itself easily to another word that pops into my head and something starts to form itself on the page, I will make space for it and see what happens. And this notebook will be butt-ugly: smeared and torn and ragged and completely unorganized.

I know I'm only 21, but maybe I'm already too old a dog to learn this new trick. I'm coming into my senior year at UT, I guess how I've taken notes - how I have interacted with the world around me - for the past three years is just going to have to work. Like I said earlier, maybe I'm just a little ADD. I have heard more than once that my notebooks look like the work of someone who doesn't concentrate all too well.

So, it's 9:17 now. I have an hour and twelve minutes until snack and then a little over an hour until bedtime. I think I'm going to go listen to an audiobook and doodle in my notebook.

Day 32

Another day.

Nothing to say.

Today has moved at a predictable pace, and time progresses inevitably toward that wonderful day.

The funny thing is that I'm not entirely sure what day I'm talking about. I'm looking forward to several. The day I get out, of course. The day after I get out. The day after that.

The evening, between dinner and snack, might be the longest stretch of the day, or the shortest. It's hard to tell.

So, I bumped into a new social network site online today. Actually, someone on Facebook (another social network) tipped me off. It's www.goodreads.com. I haven't really messed around with it too much, but it looks pretty cool.

Day 31

So I got my iPod in today. A foolish purchase - it cost me two and a half days as a lab rat - but I'm definitely thrilled to have it. I put all my music and audiobooks on it now, then deleted the audiobooks from my computer so I have room to download more. Which I am now doing. Thanks, Mom.

Everyone in here is getting a little crazy, me thinks. The once sweet-natured old country man grandfather figure now screams into his phone and plays board games with the intensity of a serial killer. I would not be exaggerating to say that he intimidates me a bit. I wonder too if the people he is talking to on the phone recognize that it is not him that's talking, but the demon released by cabin fever. That makes me wonder if I'm really seeing anyone around me, or just their demon.

The fact is demons aren't real. Not like I'm using the word at least. That's just a metaphor, because the evil old man and the gentle old man are still the same old man. The demon that slips out from between your lips or peers out of your tired eyes is still you. And even though I try to understand the reason for your bad behavior, it's still your behavior.

So the point is that our demons are coming out. And the best way to soothe any flaring tempers is just to say "11 days, buddy. 11 days." Which is all that needs to be said and all that can be said.

On that note, today, day 31, makes this the longest study I've ever done. So yeah.

Enough said?

Day 30

I understand and respect the importance of these studies as scientific experiments in which ALL variables have to be accounted for, so I know that you really do have to be on time to procedures and do what they say, but I have to admit that they are definitely nazis around here. The issue I take offense at is not that they are strict, but that they don't see us as coworkers or even really as humans. We're just the lab rats. When I say they, I mean some - but not all of - of the techs, but I'm really talking about the larger PPD culture which I think encourages that attitude. I don't know whether it was the subjects who see this as a quick buck and don't really care about earning their pay who caused the system to stop treating all the subjects as peers or whether sincere people came into PPD, were treated like cattle, and stopped caring about their studies.

I know that a technician is cool if they refer to me by my name instead of my initials. If they refer to me as "subject 107" which is my number, then I have difficulty being friendly. I don't step out of line though. I toe their line and answer to my number because I know that I'm not in a concentration camp. I am here for money and it's easy money too. All I have to do is fly under the radar. Be on time, eat all my food, and keep my mouth shut.

The fact is that they have a really incredible hierarchy system around here. Doctors are really like royalty. They show up when they want to and do what they want to. If you have a physical scheduled with a doctor, expect to be there half an hour early in case he shows up early, but don't expect to actually get seen for half an hour after your scheduled time, because he might just be too busy for you. I have seen coordinators run around sweating because the ECG results were on the page after the vitals results, and the wanted them on the page before. Just below doctors are the study coordinators, who decide who gets docked and deal with the sponsors (the drug company sponsoring the study). Parallel to study coordinators are the paramedics, who don't seem to care what the paramedics think and know that they are superior human beings to everyone beneath them on the hierarchy. Beneath paramedics are the numerous techs. Beneath techs are housekeeping and kitchen, who can't go to all areas of the building and often don't speak English. At the very bottom are the subjects, who are peons.

For the most part, techs are the worst people, because they are so close to the bottom, and answer to so many people, that some of them love every opportunity they can find to take a power trip and show their strength. Also, they might just be the worst because they are the only people who we interact with regularly. Really, they just have a ridiculously large number of rules that they choose whether or not to enforce. If they like you, they don't enforce the rules. If they're having a bad day or you get on their nerves, they enforce the rules. That's what happened to Austin. He's jumped over beds before, because he just has that much energy after being in here for 30 days, and no one has said a word, but the tech this morning was in a foul mood, so when he jumped over a bed (Austin is a contortionist who can cross his legs behind his head while sitting in a chair and eating dinner.) she went straight to some mysterious higher authority, higher even than the doctors, and - according to Austin - greatly exaggerated his foul just to get him in trouble. Austin said it, but I believe it.

Speaking of higher authorities, if doctors are royalty and study coordinators are our feudal lords, there are gods in this world. Gods of war and food and merriment that we poor peons are too unworthy to ever see. I have never seen a god, and - as is usually the case with the gods - I don't ever want to see a PPD god. Kim Noo, the subject advocate I told you about earlier, she is Prometheus maybe, or the Virgin Mary. Perhaps we subjects should be offering sacrifices to these PPD gods. Asking The Advocate to carry our cases before the gods.

It is the goal of most here to reincarnate as royalty then demigods, and maybe, eventually, to become gods themselves. Every now and then, a janitor will become a tech. Techs go to school and become paramedics or study to be doctors. Some become coordinators and hope to climb to the administrative districts of Mt. Atlas. Only the peons, the study subjects, hope for nirvana. We hope to leave this crazy world altogether. Maybe it's heaven we yearn for, the larger world beyond these walls where royalty and gods and peons are equals.

As for me, I just keep my head low, try not to attract the attention of the my superiors, say "yessa massa" when I have to, and count down the days until heaven. And you know the funny thing? I think I'm having a much easier time than those who think to change the system.

Am I a bad rebel? No, this just is not my fight.

Day 29

I'm listening to another David Sedaris book, Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim, right now. I spent most of the day before dinner listening to another audio book, The Great Transformation by Karen Armstrong, which is a massive book about the beginnings of religion. (By massive I mean 24 hours long, since I have no physical mass of pages to judge.)

So today was normal again: no extra blood draws. Of course, normal is sort of a joke, and sort of a tragedy, because it means that we have 13 more days of the exact same thing before real normality returns.

Day 28

A Kinetics Day is almost over. It wasn't that bad. 10 blood draws flew by just like that. Which is what I expected, actually. I have been looking forward to this day for a while now, because I knew it would go by quickly - too busy to really do anything - and because it means I only have two weeks left! I'm in the last third. And it cannot go by quickly enough.

I just watched an interesting documentary about the illegality of the IRS. It wasn't very good, very conspiracy theory-esque, but unfortunately, it got me thinking. I have thought for some time that the income tax is an extremely bad idea, because (a) it was unconstitutional before the 16th amendment and (b) it was unconstitutional because the federal government was never intended to have (or need) that much power.

Here's a little plan I thought up during government class almost a year ago. I was interested in ending what I still see as a highly unethical tendency towards violence in American foreign policy. I also wanted to reestablish a government that is afraid of its citizens, not the other way around. I looked it up after watching this documentary and despite being pretty idealistic, it still looks pretty good to me.


1. Establish national tax on imported oil.
2. Recycle this money into alternative energy research.
3. End US reliance on foreign oil.
4. End all overseas conflicts as quickly as possible.
5. Pull all troops back to America.
6. Cut military spending by 75%
7. End US reliance on military industrial complex.
8. Increase focus on defensive military.
9. Return 1/3 of former military spending as tax breaks incentives for acts of public welfare, nationally and internationally, to create strong private charity system.
10. Invest remaining 2/3 of former military spending back into economy to compensate for loss in military industrial complex sectors.
11. End all international free trade agreements.
12.. Close privately-owned federal reserve and assign management of American money to the treasury department.
13. Carefully decrease above economic stimulus, giving economy time to handle change.
14. Pay off national debt and lower taxes with former military spending.
15. As federal taxes decrease, move more currently federal expenses to state government.
16. Return election of national senators to state legislatures.
17. Abolish federal income tax.
18. Allow federal funding through tariffs and customs only & temporary income taxation on profits only (businesses, not personal wages) during crises to be approved by 2/3 majority in congress for 5 years.

Conclusion: An independent United States with a smaller federal government that is committed to international isolation and a populace that has economic incentives to privately promote general welfare, including internationally.

The argument that might be made is that doing this is giving the terrorists exactly what they want. That is completely true. While the methods of terrorists are completely immoral and discolor any ideas they propose, if American foreign policy really is destructive and immoral, as I believe it is, then the United States has a moral obligation to do exactly what the terrorists want, not because we have lost, but because it is right.

If we end our military presence elsewhere in the world and create a culture that allows and encourages private charity in Americans, anti-American proponents of terror tactics have no ground to stand on! Can the government really be blamed if a voluntary coalition of American citizens donate ten billion dollars to the preservation of Israel against its enemies? No.

While I do not like the idea of standing in the corner while injustices are being perpetuated around the globe, I know that Jimmy Carter, Colin Powell, and a pastor, traveling to North Korea, acting on behalf of a non-profit organization, not the government, went MUCH further toward convincing Kin Jong-Il to end social injustices in his country than the government ever has. The point is not that it is not our ethical responsibility to protect and defend the weak and helpless, but that it IS our responsibility to do just that! Not our government's responsibility. Ours, the citizens.

But of course this will never happen, because too many people have too much money hanging on global government, and too much power hangs in the balance. And I am left musing: if I live in a country that abuses its power to kill and destroy, what do I do? I'm thinking of the guy who asked Jesus whether he should pay taxes, and Jesus said to give to Caesar what is Caesar's. That's pretty remarkable when you think about how the Romans surely used the money the Jews gave them, to hurt many people, including the Jews. Those taxes would pay the soldiers who would tear the temple down. What do you do with that?

Day 27

This is the latest in the day that I have posted yet. I almost didn't post at all.

Instead, I unexpectedly spent most of the afternoon and evening playing Settlers of Catan. I brought the board game, but the people I met were clearly not the board game type, so I never brought it out, but today, someone who is an hour after me in all procedures (therefore wakes an hour after I do, eats an hour after I do, and so we never really cross paths) saw the game under my bed and got excited because he loves the game.

It's definitely nice having some people who want to play board games that I know now, but I still really want to spend some time reading and stuff, and these guys are psyched about how fast the time flies playing Settlers and intend to play it as continuously as possible. I'm sure they'll be able to find other players when I'm not in.

I should mention that I have also realized that the stories of woe and misery that I told a few days ago seem to not be as widespread as I thought. The people who are scheduled immediately before and after me have lives like that, and others that I have talked to tell similar stories, but I've known that there are older guys and a few younger college educated guys who don't seem to be stuck in that rut. However, fortunately or unfortunately, I don't cross paths with those people. I don't eat lunch with the people who are similar to me. At the same time, it is nice to spend the afternoon playing a board game with people who don't look completely confused at the sight of a board game. It's like being home, or something.

And now I'm off to bed. Tomorrow is Kinetics Day which means lots of blood.

Day 26

What is there possibly to say? I've been typing before I've been thinking for 26 days now.

There is a thing or two that I might say, but I don't really want to say anything.

Tomorrow is a Sunday. I have 3 more Sundays in PPD. 2 more Saturdays in here. 2 more dinners of teriyaki chicken with a sugar cookie.

Monday will be a "kinetics day", which means that it's the end of a dosing period, so we have a lot of extra blood draws. I think like 10 or 12 total.

And now back to Car Talk...

Day 25

Dinner tonight is spaghetti, toast, and juice. The Friday Night Special. After tonight, I get to have this meal 2 more times. That ain't bad at all! I don't mind the food, but I can't wait for the day in about 2 weeks when each meal that I eat here will be the last time time I eat that meal.

They took us on a walk the past two nights. I hope they take us on a walk tonight. It's funny how everything about this place forces me to live in the present moment. It doesn't seem to have that effect on everyone, and I'm not sure why, but to me, the monotony combined with the unpredictability of treats forces me to live only in today, because looking forward to anything isn't really possible.

For that matter, it's possible that we won't actually get to leave on the day they told us we're leaving! It's possible that my blood levels might still be out of range, and they have to keep me here under observation until they get in range. Granted, I don't think that very likely (They have to pay us extra for those extra days, which I am certain they don't want to do if they can help it, and I'm PRETTY darn sure I'm on the drug now, which means that after Monday, I'll be on the placebo, so my blood levels will be sure to be in range), but I had to make plans for the night of the 31st with the knowledge that on the 31st, I might still be stuck in this house outside of time!

Last night, when they offered to take us on a walk, I smiled, surprised, and gladly enjoyed the walk they gave us. That walk was three times as long as the walk the night before last. Every tech seems to have a different idea of what the study doctor allows us to do. We even had a tech who said we weren't allowed to walk across the little bridge crossing the artificial stream, which baffled every one of us. So even when we get walks, we cannot begin to assume what that means or how much pleasure we will get out of it. In fact, only by assuming that we might only get a 5 minute walk on the little segment of the path between bridges were we able to really appreciate the extra long walk yesterday!

The "activities tech" (a cute girl named Bev who comes to PPD for 5 hours each afternoon just to play games) made her way to our area of the facility and we played poker for a dollar flashlight and a deck of cards. (PPD is oh, so generous on those prizes) Like everything else, there is nothing predictable about when Bev visits us or whether she brings poker or bingo or arts&crafts or something else. So I don't have any way to predict that either.

Pretty much everything except drug procedures and meals are unpredictable. So a portion of my day is exactly the same, day to day, and a portion cannot possibly be predicted. So what do I do with that? I do today what happens today. I'm assuming they are not taking us on a walk tonight, will not plan on it, but will be delighted if they do take us outside. Even if only for a minute or two.

Can I have this attitude on the outside, where planning is a necessary part of life? I think so. I've already - as I said - planned something, knowing full well that it just might not work out. Sure, I would be a little disappointed, but at the same time, I would be getting more money. And basically, it would be out of my control, so I can't really do much, can I?

There's something to be said for understanding how completely out of control we actually are in life.

Day 24

I will choose not to post anything too long today. I read most of the day and enjoyed reading an actual book, ink on paper, very much. Simple things please me these days, and few things frustrate me. I've tried to learn to walk slowly, watching and feeling each footfall. I know that sounds very crazy, but besides making each moment pass faster, it's better to channel all my nervous energy into perceptiveness and openness than to feel continually trapped. In that vein, I don't feel too trapped these days. I could walk out any time I wanted, and I've known that all along, but it is not the money that keeps me within these walls, but my own will, and the desire I have to finish this thing. Which is not to say that if they were to give me the full pay and tell me to leave today, I would complain too much.

A group of blueshirts moved in with us last night and began procedures today. They have a much tougher study than we have. Get this: they are isolated in the hospital wing during the day, doing an hour of laying down (can't sleep) followed by an hour of sitting, then an hour of standing, and they have repeated that all day. Also, whenever they enter the cafeteria to eat (where I spend the whole day on my computer or reading) everyone else has to put away all electronic devices, turn off phones, and no one is allowed to speak while they are here. In fact, they are not allowed to speak to each other during the study. Nor are they allowed to use laptops, cell phones, books, anything. I think they are only here 3 or 4 days, but that is a very long 3 or 4 days.

So now I will read more, enjoying my little monk life.

Day 23

I have spent most of the day listening to the audiobook of "A Walk in the Woods" by Bill Bryson, which is about a hiking trip up the 2,000-mile long Appalachian Trail, and now I find in myself the nearly overwhelming urge to be outside, hiking or camping or biking. It is a good thing that I am going to hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon when I get out, but that's not necessarily enough. I want to camp on the beach. I want to hike the Appalachian Trail. I want to bike the Great Divide Trail, Mexico to Canada.

I actually am thinking about biking the Great Divide Trail, all 3,000 miles of it, next summer. I think I might rather hike the Appalachian Trail, but you can't do that in a summer, while you can bike the 1000-mile-longer trail in about 2 months. Next summer is a long way off, and a lot can change, but the idea sounds pretty good to me. Of course, that would mean spending the next year getting in shape and taking shorter prep rides, but that alone sounds pretty good to me after 42 days of sitting around. In that endeavor, I spent some time looking at mountain biking trails in Big Bend National Park. In THAT endeavor, I realized that I might need to consider using some of my money buying a truck or some transportation that could carry a bike and equipment. So I spent some time browsing the car listings on Craigslist. All the time listening to Bill Bryson describe the hells and heavens of walking from Georgia to Maine.

It's funny how these things happen. And it's a little discouraging: I like nature, camping and stuff, and recognize that if I don't need to be driving, it's better for that nature if I don't drive, so I decide to do my best to go without a car. Bike and such. But without a car, I can't actually get to that beloved nature, and it is too easily forgotten! So, in order to appreciate the trees and deserts, I have to get a car, a truck even, and drive hours, all the while giving Al Gore and Ralph Nadar something to cry over.

The only way to do what is claimed to be "right for the environment", it seems, is to value the existence of the current natural environment for its own sake, to exist on its own, apart from nature. Unfortunately, I cannot claim that sainthood. I like nature because I like the way it makes me feel, the connection with something huge, and the connection with humanity - how humanity has interacted with nature for millennia. I can't come up with a really great answer to the question of "What makes a tropical Antarctica worse than a frozen Antarctica?" Well, there are social answers that convince me (the mass displacement and death of millions in poor coastal regions like Bangladesh) and theological questions of stewardship (it matters because it is our fault), but I can't think of anything absolutely 'better' about a pre-global warming nature over a post-global warming nature. Except.

Except for the fact that I happen to have an affinity for the great American nature, a wilderness that really does still exist on this continent unlike any place in the temperate world. Europe was completely tamed when they discovered America and it blew their minds, and - even after 500 years of unending cultivation, there's still some truly amazing wild here. The sky in West Texas is bigger than anywhere, because people's lights haven't tainted it yet. The vast forests, or what remains of them, and the huge plains. I really like that stuff!

I think everyone has something in them that really likes that stuff. A lot of people I know aren't into camping and claim to have no love for the wilderness. I don't exactly understand that mindset except to assume that these people haven't ever really had the pleasure of really getting to see something so powerful as nature can be. Or else they have grown too used to the comforts of a tamed and civil world. Or maybe they gave up the pleasures of getting to be part of nature in order that nature can exist all on its own, special but forgotten.

I honestly don't care if all the trees burn and little smelly rodents start breathing in carbon dioxide and breathing out oxygen except that I like trees. I like how big they are and the metaphor that they mean to me, and I like the shade they provide. And I like all this probably just because I grew up with trees. So what's the point in saving trees if that means riding my bike across cement streets, head to the ground, shaded only by cement overpasses?

So, here I am, thinking about buying a truck so I can drive somewhere and see nature...

Day 22

I don't really feel like saying much today. Possibly because I'm listening to the audiobook of "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris which is hilarious. In a while, when I finish this, I'm going to finish reading "The Wisdom of No Escape" by Pema Chodron.

A group of red shirts moved in with us today. We 28 violet shirts have been alone in this wing for over a week, and I'm not entirely enthusiastic about losing the simple quiet, but "fresh meat", with its new dramas and comedies, cannot all be a bad thing.

I'll right more tomorrow.

Day 21

Halfway done! Today is Day 21 and I have 21 days remaining! I think time has basically flown by pretty fast. Some days are longer than others, and some are shorter, but overall, I'm pretty content with my stay in PPD. I definitely think that I am getting something out of this period besides money.

One of the largest things I might say that has come out of the past few weeks is a realization of the immense pain and suffering that is everyday and usual among the people around me. I am not surprised by the existence of suffering. I have been witness to some suffering over my life, and I feel blessed to have grown up knowing that pain exists. I think here about Ben's accident, about the struggles of Lora and Eleana, about the fiasco surrounding the Science Quest teacher (I forget his name right now), about the separation of my mom and aunt from their parents, about cancer and cancer, and about the unwanted deaths of Jerry and Julie. I am not surprised to find out that there is suffering in the world, but to find that so MANY people are stuck in a foul swamp and have given up on ever getting out.

T., a cool older guy (50s maybe?) here with a highly developed sense of justice and a passion for protecting children, has been allowing a woman to live in his house for 2 years (they are not, he insists, together) with her 9-year old son. He told me about how much his "little friend" matters to him, and how much he hates the boy's father, who is a drug addict and tries to turn the boy against his mother. The mother had recovered from drugs, but T. is afraid that she has slipped back into drugs. He has already sent her a letter saying that she needs to start looking to find a new place to live, because T. thinks he has done a bad thing by providing everything for them. He told me he's afraid for the 9-year old boy, who has recently pulled a knife on his own mother. The situation is more complicated, with two other children from another father involved, but I'll leave that be for now. I mourn for T., who is helpless to help the people he loves, and I mourn with T. for the boy who is on a precipice, about to fall into a pit he may never crawl out of. Unlike Stony, I mourn for the father and mother who are addicted to substances and completely lost sight of hope.

I have already mentioned the situation of A., the 29-year old who wonders whether to leave his children's mother and his children to be with the woman he loves. I should mention I have little respect for A. I truly do understand the tragedy of his situation. He impregnated a woman accidentally, but - out of love for his children - stayed with her. Now, six years later, he's tired of being with a woman he never loved and tired of hiding the girlfriend of two years who he does love. If this were the whole situation, I would commend A. for putting his kids first for so long, and would encourage him to hang in there and not give up now, not as long as his home situation remains livable, even comfortable, as he has claimed. However, he is silver-tongued, a player, and flirts continuously with any female in sight. He claims that when he's with his wife, he wants to flirt with other women, but when he's with his girlfriend, he wants no other women. His actions suggest to me that he is deceiving himself. However, despite my distrust for A., I can see the misery that is his life, all because of a lack of self-confidence and a mistake 6 years ago, and can see that he is in pain. I can also see that he is creating pain for his children and for the women he bruises as a result.

W., another older guy (older compared to the average age here; mid 40s?) that I almost respect if only for his age, loves his daughter a great deal. It is probably this love that gives me what respect I have. He has come out of a nasty divorce and a long hard fight for custody of the daughter, which he won. He has a generally peaceful temperament and is politely respectful of me, but seems to have the fault that most in here have: he's completely uninterested in anything bigger than sex. I would say that his eyes are to the ground, focused only on getting the physical substitute for the love that he has given up on, and getting money to provide for his daughter. He told me today the story of his friend though, who was just divorced. His friend and his friend's ex-wife entered the marriage with one child each from previous parents. W.'s friend's ex-wife's son raped the friend's daughter. When the friend filed with the police, his then-wife filed for divorce, angry that things had not been kept "in the family". She lied to the police then, claiming that the W's friend had molested HER. Her only mistake was to send emails to the friend and leave messages on his machine saying that she planned to tell that lie. Before she lied to the police, the friend had offered to drop the rape charges, because his daughter didn't want it in the open anymore, wanted to put it behind her. Now that the police are deciding whether or not to prosecute the ex-wife for obstruction of justice, W. is trying to convince his friend not to drop the rape charges, because the boy - he says - needs to be brought to justice.

I cannot tell you how many times in the past 21 days I have said "wow, that's a mess..."

B., a man in his early 40s from Portland, has only started to come onto my radar in the past couple of days. He has struck me for some time as having a deep internal sadness. Not an open depression always moping around. He laughs a lot and jokes around, but there's something behind his eyes, a depth that comes only from pain. His forearms are covered in scars that I think are self-inflicted. I'm not certain about that, but the only other times I have seen long gash scars like that, they were from cutting. All the scars are old, but not 20 years old, not from his teenage years, I don't think. I had not been too interested in talking about anything serious with B., because he seemed to be uninterested in opening up, hiding behind his jokes and nervous laugh. However, in the past few days, we have talked politics and he told me today about dropping out of school and his desire to go back to college.

B. is easier for me to understand, because I can see his suffering in his eyes, and - while I would love to know his story - I do not need to hear it to know that he has had a life full of both goodness and evil. In that, he is like people I know, still clinging onto the hope that things can be better. Still yearning to finish school, pull himself out of his mess (if there is a mess). Still hoping.

The others are harder for me to understand, because it took me a long time to realize that they are even suffering. I honestly think that many people, many more people than I ever would have expected once, have no hope for a life without pain. Many, I think, were born into a life of pain so great they can't see out of it, like T.'s "little friend". In fact, being born into it, is the only real reason I can find for being so content in misery. Jesus said that to enter the kingdom of heaven, the good life, we must have the heart of a child. But what if you never had a childhood to speak of? What if that sense of wonder and innocence and faith was trampled on from the moment you were born? I do not know that the people around me were born into a life of suffering greater than the suffering we all face as humans, but it is the best reason I can find.

Let me make sure you understand, these people are not unhappy! In fact, unhappiness is exactly what is missing! That's what made me think at first that they were simply petty, banal, and (looking at their actions) wicked. I saw what looked to me like loneliness and the attempts we make to cover our loneliness, but saw nothing but complete acceptance of those attempts as the real thing, real joy! I think many people have given up hope, or never had hope, for a better life. People have lost the ability to imagine something that doesn't exist. And so they suffer and don't ask why they suffer. They are banal and petty, because without hope, there is nothing else to be. I am afraid that some who gave up the pursuit of life for the pursuit of immediate gratification have nothing left inside them except the banal. Their heart is so frozen for so long that I wonder if it could ever be awakened.

Such suffering... so many children without parents... men and women with ruined lives... and no one cries out for for a life preserver because no one knows they are drowning.

Wow, that's a mess.

Day 20

Just a quick note: I found an interesting blog about churches in Austin I wanted to draw attention to:

The Gospel According to Austin.

I found most of the essays highly encouraging with the only real exception of Shoreline's review (especially the ensuing comments).

I'll post more later.

Day 19

Today's activities involved reading along with the audiobook of Mark, from The Message, a conversation about being peace with Thich Nhat Hanh and hours reading Gilead.

And that's about all there is to say! How boring it must be to read my entries. Some days I rant about things that matter to no one except me and some days I treat the smallest novelty as the greatest excitement. What was your day like? Did you rush all over town trying to accomplish more things than you have time for? Was there a daily drama at home or at work? Did you spend some amount of time hating your job or your messy home? Do you read my entries and envy my simplicity, but then think: "If I had that much time, I might go crazy, say something stupid, lacking perspective"?

The truth is, as I have mentioned before, that my stay here in PPD is definitely outside of the "real world". Prisons work this same way. The purpose of penitentiaries was originally to create a spirit of penitence in the inmates. They were based on the idea that humans are inherently good and a guilty person need only be put in a place structured to create inward reflection to create a desire for betterment in the inmate. The first penitentiary was run by Quakers, and it was beautifully crafted with high (18') vaulted ceilings in each cell designed to force the eye heavenward. At the top of each cell, there was an eye-shaped window designed to bring natural light into the cell, called the eye of God. The inmates were denied any outside contact with the world: no letters and no visits. It was even said that if someone were imprisoned before an election, they should not know who the president of the country was. All focus was to be on the heart of the inmate. While penitentiaries failed as a social experiment, I have no doubt that the prison design certainly aided in personal reflection.

PPD is hardly a prison, but there is a sense of that same outside-of-reality mood that fosters inner reflection for me. I realize that in some senses I have little perspective on the everyday busy life of everyone I know after even two weeks of such a slower pace. I wonder though if I am gaining a different perspective that can't easily be seen from inside daily life. This is not surprising, since that perspective of distance is a big reason why I came in here, but I still wonder where this is headed. I wonder if anything I gain in here will mean anything on the outside or if I will simply slip back into normality, head to the ground, stars forgotten.

I wish there was a more detailed account of Jesus' time in the wilderness. I kind of get the impression that he came out and began preaching simply because John was imprisoned. Was 40 days incidental then? Was he simply waiting until there was a prophet position opening in Israel? I'm being a bit facetious.

At Tres Dias, they talk about the Fourth Day, after the retreat is over. I wonder if Day 19 is too early to start wondering about the Forty-Third Day. Mostly, I wonder if I should set the Forty-Third Day aside and think only about what to do now or whether the Forty-Third Day is ALL I should think about, the purpose of my stay being to figure out where to go from here.

I'll tell you what I think: I think the sprinklers on the hillside outside this window, spraying away, are a pretty stupid idea after so much rain. I'm going to go read Gilead now. Enjoy your evening!

Day 18

They are taking us on a walk tonight! I missed the first group, because it was during my dinner, but in a few minutes, we get to go outside! And, needless to say, that will be nice. We also got our first paycheck today for the first 2 weeks we were in here. My dad picked it up and will deposit it today, then I can spend all that money online! Hehehe! But seriously, it's nice to see some of the fruits of my efforts and remember why I am here.

Yesterday was sort of a long day, especially boring, especially lonely, especially, especially long. Everyone was angrier than normal without any extra reason. I was not glad to be in PPD. Today was better. I think that was largely because of the particular distance from being done: 17 days in and still 25 days left.

I think that days may sometimes be harder and harder until we reach the halfway point, until the number of days left is less than the number of days we have been here. It almost seems like that middle portion is bound to be hard. Whether we were here for 40 days or 40 years, that period when it seems like we've been here forever and yet we're still not even halfway done is probably always the hardest.

Anyway, whether the stormy period is over, which I doubt, or not, today flew by. Dad dropped off some more books for me, and just the sight of that something new was definitely exciting. Aunt Lou also let me download anything from her Audible account, which was wonderfully generous. She didn't mention that she has only purchased Blink (an excellent book I've already read) and Eugene Peterson's "The Message" translation of the New Testament, which I downloaded, and listened today to the Book of Matthew.

All in all, all the new books, the paycheck (which, once deposited, will buy me audiobooks as needed), and the generally better mood around the building definitely will make the next 24 days pass more smoothly. I think right now I'm going to go watch "Man Versus Wild" on Discovery Channel.

Day 17

Well, I just finished watching Psycho for the first time. Very well-crafted movie. I was very impressed.

It's raining again for the second time today. It has rained every day for a month, I think. The wettest summer ever in these parts, I have heard. In some ways, it seems like a good summer to be locked up inside. AT the same time, I hear that when it is not raining, it's much cooler than normal. And I would love to taste and smell the rain on the wind. I always sit by this window, and when the rain falls, I long to stick my hand through the window, palm up, and feel the cool pricks of the raindrops on my hand. But I can't do that.

The truth is, though, that this separation from nature was bound to create a longing and make me miss it, whatever the weather actually is. At the same time, I would be tired of either the rain or the heat by now.

That's not entirely true. I'm pretty good about accepting the weather as it is. I remember last summer laughing at everyone who complained, and kept complaining, about the ever-increasing, unceasing heat of August. And September. And into October. I remember it seemed funny to let such a thing as heat get one uptight, since (a) it is so out of our control and (b) it's always hot until long after we think it should start to be cool! I'm not sure if I was like that before my 30-day PPD study two summers ago. Maybe that was one thing that I learned from 30 days in PPD. After 30 days locked up, I got a laptop, a bike, and an appreciation of being out of control.

This evening, people were especially whiny about the food that we eat. I don't think they realize that it doesn't actually taste worse, they're just tired of this same set of meals. (It was our third time to eat a pork chop with peaches and a peach glaze) I couldn't help but be amused at everyone's unhappiness. My opinion is that we knew before the study began that we would have to eat everything, and if anyone thought they would be eating gourmet, they were foolish, so what point is there in dwelling on the food? It curbs hunger. It is a change from the monotony of the rest of the day. Who cares if it's getting boring? We're in PPD!

Anyway, enough about that. The downside is that I am getting increasingly exhausted by many of the people in here, and am retreating further and further into my own private world. But what can you do? Just sweat it out for 25 more days! Man, this is gonna be like December as a kid, counting down every single one of those days until the big day. Maybe I'll make myself a little summer advent calendar. =P

Somebody email me or call me or something. Give my voice box a much needed exercise.

Day 16

Well, I'm imprisoned on Independence Day, and everything is exactly as it always is. But then that is to be expected. You don't get $8500 for nothing.

I just listened to a podcast of the NPR show "RadioLab" about memory and forgetting, which impressed on me the value of writing down things as they happen. Memory, it seems, is very unreliable. Every memory is just a re-imagining of how things probably were, not a straight recollection of how things were.

I've heard a lot about memory in recent months. Stumbling on Happiness talks about the unreliability of memory as related to how it is a part of our efforts to predict the future and make good decisions. The Assault on Reason talks about the brain's inability to distinguish between things we haven't actually seen, but have seen on TV (like Mt Everest) and what we have actually seen.

The evidence supports the conclusion that memory and imagination are basically the same thing. I think it was a Terry Pratchett character who said that humans walk through time backwards, able to see what is behind us and not toward what we walk. It seems better to say that we walk through time with our eyes closed, able to see neither our goal nor the race we have already run, just imagining what it must have been like and what it might soon be like. At best, if we walk through time backwards, our eyes are only half open.

It is tempting to say then that all we have is the moment in which we live, but perhaps even these senses are inaccurate! It is a fact that the soldier who is shot on the battlefield hurts less and asks for less morphine than someone who is shot in their own city. Why? The soldier who is shot instantly and subconsciously predicts (imagines) the glory, the getting to go home, the warm reception by friends and family, the duty he has done for his country. A shopkeeper who is shot in a hold-up instantly imagines the hospital bills, being out of work, the worry he will cause his family, the pointlessness of his injury. All this imagining happens even before the brain has processed the pain signals, and the better story that the soldier tells himself acts like a drug that literally causes him to feel less pain.

It works like this: We use a bit of present sensory data and a lot of past experiences to create our predictions of the future. We use our predictions of the future, our present moment, and al ot of other past experiences to create our memories of the past. WE use some sensory data, some memories, and some future imagination to perceive our present.

So we imagine our past, we imagine our futures, and our imagination is as important to our present as our sensory impulses! How do we know what is actually happening, actually happened, or actually will happen? Basically, we don't. And I don't think it matters.

Even though imperfect, the present is still the best (or most realistically perceived) time, partially because we use everything we sense and everything we can know and imagine toward the purpose of figuring out "what is going on right now" and "what should I do about it?"

I happen to be a huge fan of the imagination and love the fact that it plays such a huge role in every single moment of my life.

Daniel Gilbert, author of Stumbling on Happiness, and Al Gore, author of The Assault on Reason, both believe that the world would be a better place if people acknowledge the huge role of imagination, and quit thinking they have the lock on reality. Gilbert talks about individual happiness, and suggests that the best way to make accurate predictions is to find someone or many someones who are currently in the situation you are contemplating being in instead of relying on your own ideas or memory. Gore is more interested in politics and thinks that TV deceives us into thinking our imagination isn't involved. In fact, we set our imaginations on the backburner, and with our conscious imaginations go our faculty for critical reasoning.

Everyone would agree that a pretty good way to work out reality from our imaginations is to talk about it with as many people as possible with as many perspectives as possible. Gore, ever the rationalist, thinks democracy can only happen when political ideas are continuously under debate. Contact with people is like the sun acting on our internal clocks.

Another protection against the ever-fallable imagination that I have not heard anyone suggest is to write. It's like in Memento. In Memento, the hero only has a 5 or 10 minute memory, but he is determined to revenge his murdered wife (her dead body being his last memory), so he writes himself numerous notes, and tattoos important information on his skin.

I think the best way to keep your memory as close to accurate as it can be would be to write regularly. Then, years later, after your imagination has comletely rewritten a day, read what you wrote that day, and instantly, your story corrects itself.

Of course, not even the best writer can truly capture even a moment, much less a day, so imagination still reigns supreme. Reading your own journal is little different than reading a good novel: the imagination rules both. I kind of like that. I'd cool to imagine it.

Now, on this Independence Day, I will close my eyes and imagine fireworks and barbeque and the freedom that I know I actually have.

Day 15

Stay all night, stay a little longer
Dance all night, dance a little longer
Pull off your coat, throw it in the corner
Don't see why ya don't stay a little longer!"

One-third done! 66% remaining.

I made it into the next round today, so I'm finally guaranteed to be here until the very end. Which means, of course, that I'm finally guaranteed the money. I cannot stress how nice that certainty is. Granted, I had previously worked my odds of getting kicked out to be about 9%, so I wasn't too worried, but there was definitely the knowledge that SOMEONE was going to be going home. So, 3 of us were given the ol' heave-ho, and the rest of us dosed the new test drug, and breathed a big sigh of relief.

I think it will be easier to settle in from this point on. Besides the fact that we made it over the two week threshold, it's easier to count down the days without that ever-present thought "but I might be leaving tomorrow." Now I just have to hang in there. Stay a little longer.

Right now, there aren't any other studies in this quand besides ours, which is either nice or annoying, I can't decide. It's certainly much quieter, and there's more space to spread out. Everytime another study checks out of my dorm room, I take the pillow and blanket off the bunk above me, and when a new study checks in, housekeeping replaces the blanket and pillow without a word, but every Monday, when they change my sheets, they take the extra pillow and blanket, again, without a word. Since it's only Tuesday now, I guess I have myself an extra blanket and pillow for a week! Hopefully, it will be a while until someone else checks in, because I like to keep my stuff on the top bunk and use the extra power outlet.

What to do now? Start a new book? Take a nap? Maybe there's a good movie playing in the tv rooms...

Day 14

Life is beautiful, you know?

I just realized that the fundamental value to music like that of Joanna Newsom and poetry like that of Wordsworth and pictures of sunsets is that it shows the immense beauty that exists everywhere, and the capacity of human minds to hold and embrace such powerful wonders.

I'm listening to an online "radio" program now where you give it one artist you like and it creates a playlist based on sounds similar to that artist. It's called the "Music Genome Project", which is a fairly ambitious allusion. I don't think it works completely: I put in a The Red Hot Chili Peppers and every song they played was definitely similar to the Peppers, but I still didn't really like any of them the same, but even I could not explain why.

This, of course, opens up an entire question about what is quality, and whether it is actually possible to find specific identifiable traits that make one song good and another song bad. Since I have spent the day reading about Hume and Descartes and Kant, it is both tempting to follow that question and easy to let it go for now.

I am now listening to a Joanna Newsom "radio". Joanna Newsom, incidentally, features "folk roots, mild rhythmic syncopation, acoustic sonority, varying tempo, and time signatures, and demanding instrumental part writing." And I even know what some of that means! I will say they do a better job of creating a cool playlist for Newsom, probably because the list of things that makes her unique is much longer than the list for the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Besides all the technical distinctives, each song in this list creates in me the "oceanic feeling" (that Freud did not understand) and suddenly this sterile cafeteria, each of us on laptops or reading or writing in journals, becomes a hall in a monastery, and we are the monks.

Can art serve any higher purpose than to ignite the imagination of the audience and reveal holiness in the ordinary? Then again, should the artist even stop to think about the purpose of her creation, or just let it be as it will?

"Anyhow - I sat by your side, by the water
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger
Thoough all I knew of the rote universe were those pleiades loosed in december
I promised you I‘d set them to verse so I'd always remember

That the meteorite is a source of the light
And the meteor's just what we see
And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee

And the meteorite's just what causes the light
And the meteor's how it's perceived
And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void that lies quiet in offering to thee"
~exceprt from "Emily", Joanna Newsom

Day 13

I know this is going to sound kind of funny, but I'm too busy to post tonight. I know, I know... lab rat with time to kill. All that. But I'm busy planning a trip to the Grand Canyon! I'm psyched about this trip, and I'm laying it all out! Schedule, little interactive spreadsheet, the whole bit. We're gonna spend a few days walking to the bottom of a big hole in the ground. Doesn't that sound terribly amazing?

My post yesterday was pretty long, so I have to make up for it by making today's very short.

This morning, I had an interesting debate with a friend about whether he should leave his children's mother (who he has lived with for 7 years) because they were never in love, but only fooled around and then got pregnant, and go be with his girlfriend of 2 years, whom he is in love with. I've rarely been so outspoken, and I'm not sure it did any good, but I told him that he screwed up his life pretty bad, and now he has to own up to his mistakes and stay with his kids. Especially since he admits his "wife" is a good woman and his home environment is wonderful. It just baffles me how someone could honestly say, "I love my kids, but I am not in love with their mother, so I'm going to move out."

Mindblowing. Where are all the men?

In the process of talking about that, another guy admitted that it's not always so easy doing the tough thing as you say it will be. (Too which I wanted to say, "No kidding? Things are harder to do than talk about?") Turns out our 21-year old friend bought his girlfriend birth control pills, which she didn't tell him that she was not planning on taking because, unknownst to him, she intended to have a baby with our friend. Which she did! So this is all very recent, and he tells me he's trying to figure out what to do, because it was not his irresponsibility that led to this situation, but the girl's scheming. He is thinking about giving up and rights to the child. I guess whatever the scientific evidence about birth control, abstinence is definitely the only sure protection from a wily woman. My gut reaction that this poor guy needs to suck it up and plan on being this child's father, even though he never wanted to be a father. My feeling is that if you can't keep it in your pants, you have to be ready to pay the fee. However, I admit his situation is a little more tricky than the first gentleman's, for whom I have little sympathy.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to say today! Sleep tight, angels.