It is crazy and more than a little depressing for me to realize that I checked out of PPD 30 days ago. I have now been out two-thirds of the time that I spent trapped inside, and I have to say that the time outside has flown far far faster than life in the slammer. This is not surprising in the slightest, but looking at the future through an inmate's pace of life led me to establish unrealistic expectations for the month of August.
Given the discrepency between what I wanted and what was, in fact, possible, I guess I actually held to my goals closer than might have been expected. Maria, a friend from my days at Macaroni Grill, was one of the first people to say she wanted to hang out after I got out of PPD, but we only spent time together this past Tuesday, because I have simply had so few free evenings.
For the first week after I got out, I continued my morning ritual that I had wanted to keep up out of PPD, and it was as wonderful as I expected it to me. I got up earlier than I had to, and, after a brief morning run, I walked down to Clementine's where I bought a paper, a bowl of oatmeal, and a cup of coffee, then read the paper and completed the crossword before walking back to my apartment to begin my day in earnest. However, the surprising part is that this two-hour routine held up as long as it did. I think it was the first truly late night out that did me in (3 or 4 in the morning).
Now, here I am, a month later, and I don't know really where the past month has gone. Of course, Sara, my sister, and I went to the Grand Canyon and spent three days hiking to the bottom and back up, which was awesome, but not exactly for the obvious reasons. (More on that later, maybe.)
I remember being extremely unhappy at one point on the drive back from Flagstaff to Austin, thinking, "Why did I just do that if nothing ends up being any different?" I realized that if I just did it for fun, there are many things that would have been funner (in the classic sense of the word). Things like shooting myself in the foot. And I was desperately afraid that after a few days of refining fire, I turned out to be only made of iron after all, and rust was already setting in. It's hard to explain my frustration on that point, so I'll quit trying. Of course, as I explained the trip to friends, I began to realize that it had been a good thing, and more than just entertainment. I turned out to be stronger in ways I never knew and weaker in ways I have always known, but chosen to ignore.
In the end, my relationships with Sara and Katie will be stronger than our squabbles and differences, even if we ended the trip a little more distant than when we started it. I realized that I am a man and remembered that I am still a boy and that will end up being a good thing.
But I've had the same fear about my time in PPD. "Why did I just do that if nothing ends up being different?" If I did it for the money, then I now have no cash to show for my efforts; several bills and debts and a car later and I'm basically where I started. I must have done it for the experience itself - I said so all along - but if a month after checking out, life, and my outlook on it, seems little different than when I checked in, why did I waste 42 precious days of my life?
I cut off my hair a couple of days ago, and saw someone in the mirror that I didn't know. I assumed it must have been me, because I didn't recognize him while everyone else seemed to know him quite well, saying simply, "Whoah, nice haircut," instead of "Who is this strange-looking man before me?" as I said to myself.
I realized in that moment that I am not a child. I saw it, maybe for the first time ever. I saw it in my eyes. As I looked at a face that I wasn't familiar with, nearly hairless, not yet my own, I saw it from a few feet further away then I normally do, and I realized that it was not the face of a boy.
I saw time in my eyes. Pain and exhaustion and joy and peace all existed simultaneously in these orbs that I was slowly realizing were my own. I saw too much worry and brief moments of faith that made it all okay. I saw the energy and excitement of youth (which I hope I am a long way from losing) tempered by the lack of innocence that experience inevitably causes.
And looking at myself, I realized that I really am on a journey, and I am a long way from where I was ten years ago or one year ago or even six months ago, but I'm also an incredibly long way from where I am headed, which - to steal a zen buddhist idea - is nowhere. I am still traveling to nowhere.
So I decided to keep blogging! Because it helps me to write and to imagine that someone is reading. Because I'm not the only one journeying (in fact, we all are). Because I still have to say something. So I'm back on the site. I think I'll try to post about once a week.
Let the race begin!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Day 43 - The Last Post
I am free today. Crazy. It really is crazy. Have you ever heard stories about people who grow up living in the jungles where the trees are so close together you can't see more than 10 feet away from you? Have you heard the story about the ones who come out of the jungle and stand on the savanna where you can see all the way to the horizon? Those people find it impossible to make their eyes see that far. They can't judge distance at all. The beetle on a branch 4 feet away and the elephant 4 miles away are the same size, so - to the jungle-dweller who never learned perspective - they must be the same size and the same distance away from him. I've heard of someone who spent a year in the jungle in the Peace Corp. Just a year. But when he came out, even though he knew from growing up about perspective and vast savannas, his eyes physically found it difficult to process great distances. Focusing on distant objects was difficult for a few days, because his eyes were so used to everything being very very near.
Well, PPD wasn't quite like a jungle where one could only see ten feet, and I was there for (comparatively) very little time, but I was surprised today to find that, in some small way, I could identify with that difficulty with perspective like the jungle-dwellers in the savanna. Driving from my parents' house to the bank, I couldn't concentrate for a few minutes on the cars in front of me! The curb would be in focus or something lying on the dashboard while the objects I was actually staring at, the ones moving quickly, were blurry, like they were in the background. A few times, the part of the scene in focus bounced around, like my brain was trying to figure out what of the myriad things around me was important enough to focus on and couldn't decide on one value.
I would hardly call this physiological as much as psychological: I was just overjoyed to be in the great big world and uninterested in the intense focus required while driving. However, the sense that the world is actually very very enormous was definitely awe-inspiring. To see down a straight road until the hill's horizon, to see clouds before me larger than mountains, to see the river, sharper than the most expensive TV... All this forced itself on my scattered attention, impressing on me the immense and amazing nature of our world.
Eventually, this too became normal, and I was able to focus more easily on the traffic around me, zooming in on the things that "mattered". That's safer, I guess, but if there ever were an "oceanic feeling" of being part of something much much bigger than the material and human and mundane world, it was in that moment of realizing how much bigger our material world is than we mundane humans ever give it credit for. It's probably a good thing that the feeling would fade, because it's not a bad thing to know that the world is bigger and more important than I perceive it right now to be. To remember a time when everything was grander. If I did not come out of it, I might think that I finally understood nature and mankind, but even then, it would be a long way from true. I would be in the same place as I had been in before: sure of myself and my relation to the world. But I know that the world is bigger than I think it is, because I remember perceiving it as bigger than I think it is, so I know that there's a good chance it (and therefore me, as part of the living ocean of spirit) is even bigger than that experience of grandeur.
While he was driving me home from PPD, I told my dad that I felt a little bit like the people coming out of Plato's cave, sensing a big world full of light and colors and more than shadows. It was sort of a joke, but also how I felt. By the evening, I had fallen back into normal life. But then it is the job of Plato's cave-dwellers - the ones who find the light - to come back into the cave and try to explain the light to those still trapped.
I fervently believe that the real world, the world of perceivable material and invisible spirit, is to the world which I perceive as the small world of PPD is to the outside world. If not larger.
And now I am done! I'm tired. I am in my own apartment about to sleep on my own bed. I could talk a little bit more about what the past 42 days have meant to me, but I won't. I can say easily that it meant more to me than money. I'm not sure how to express exactly what I have gained from 42 days of separation and near isolation, but it is certainly more than a paycheck. And now, I have to become normal again. Or something like it. I have to go through six weeks of piled mail. Pay bills. Try to save my nearly dead lily. Because that's life. And I kind of like it.
Whoever you are, if you have been following my daily posts for the whole of my study, thank you very much. I've never been very sure who - if anyone - was reading, so I tried as often as possible to act as though this blog would be read by no one except me but could be read by anyone with a computer. I appreciate you hanging in there with me through the lonely days and judgmental days and exciting days. I'm eager to see you soon and talk to you face to face, in person. If you've been reading, call me up or send me and email and let me know!
Take it easy, friends.
Well, PPD wasn't quite like a jungle where one could only see ten feet, and I was there for (comparatively) very little time, but I was surprised today to find that, in some small way, I could identify with that difficulty with perspective like the jungle-dwellers in the savanna. Driving from my parents' house to the bank, I couldn't concentrate for a few minutes on the cars in front of me! The curb would be in focus or something lying on the dashboard while the objects I was actually staring at, the ones moving quickly, were blurry, like they were in the background. A few times, the part of the scene in focus bounced around, like my brain was trying to figure out what of the myriad things around me was important enough to focus on and couldn't decide on one value.
I would hardly call this physiological as much as psychological: I was just overjoyed to be in the great big world and uninterested in the intense focus required while driving. However, the sense that the world is actually very very enormous was definitely awe-inspiring. To see down a straight road until the hill's horizon, to see clouds before me larger than mountains, to see the river, sharper than the most expensive TV... All this forced itself on my scattered attention, impressing on me the immense and amazing nature of our world.
Eventually, this too became normal, and I was able to focus more easily on the traffic around me, zooming in on the things that "mattered". That's safer, I guess, but if there ever were an "oceanic feeling" of being part of something much much bigger than the material and human and mundane world, it was in that moment of realizing how much bigger our material world is than we mundane humans ever give it credit for. It's probably a good thing that the feeling would fade, because it's not a bad thing to know that the world is bigger and more important than I perceive it right now to be. To remember a time when everything was grander. If I did not come out of it, I might think that I finally understood nature and mankind, but even then, it would be a long way from true. I would be in the same place as I had been in before: sure of myself and my relation to the world. But I know that the world is bigger than I think it is, because I remember perceiving it as bigger than I think it is, so I know that there's a good chance it (and therefore me, as part of the living ocean of spirit) is even bigger than that experience of grandeur.
While he was driving me home from PPD, I told my dad that I felt a little bit like the people coming out of Plato's cave, sensing a big world full of light and colors and more than shadows. It was sort of a joke, but also how I felt. By the evening, I had fallen back into normal life. But then it is the job of Plato's cave-dwellers - the ones who find the light - to come back into the cave and try to explain the light to those still trapped.
I fervently believe that the real world, the world of perceivable material and invisible spirit, is to the world which I perceive as the small world of PPD is to the outside world. If not larger.
And now I am done! I'm tired. I am in my own apartment about to sleep on my own bed. I could talk a little bit more about what the past 42 days have meant to me, but I won't. I can say easily that it meant more to me than money. I'm not sure how to express exactly what I have gained from 42 days of separation and near isolation, but it is certainly more than a paycheck. And now, I have to become normal again. Or something like it. I have to go through six weeks of piled mail. Pay bills. Try to save my nearly dead lily. Because that's life. And I kind of like it.
Whoever you are, if you have been following my daily posts for the whole of my study, thank you very much. I've never been very sure who - if anyone - was reading, so I tried as often as possible to act as though this blog would be read by no one except me but could be read by anyone with a computer. I appreciate you hanging in there with me through the lonely days and judgmental days and exciting days. I'm eager to see you soon and talk to you face to face, in person. If you've been reading, call me up or send me and email and let me know!
Take it easy, friends.
Monday, July 30, 2007
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!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 27, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, July 26, 2007
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.
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.
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