Day 29

I started this journal to document my journey from SSI to financial independence in a world that doesn’t support the unconventional. It went well the first couple of weeks. And then the encounters picked up again, more than usual, noticeably so.

They leave me alone, most of the time. They check in every now and again. Most encounters are just watching, engagement on occassion. But I’m beginning to notice interference.

Since I’ve started this blog, they’re hovering — attempting to guide me in a preferred direction.

I know others are in contact. I’m not the only one, yet it feels quite isolating.

I suspect the observers only appear to be helping.

Sometimes I think about being a toddler, curious about the holes in the outlet, running my finger around the edge of one. The adult left outside with me, telling me I shouldn’t touch it. My immediate anger response to being socially blocked from exploration. My frown, the whipping of my head. I didn’t know anything about electrical currents. I wanted to see about the holes for myself.

Someone I didn’t understand, trying to warn me about something I didn’t understand. How dare someone suggest I not learn the hard way.

Are the observers akin to the concerned adult on the patio?

Are they suggesting I don’t put my finger in an electrical outlet?

They tell me if I stay quiet, I’ll live a better life. If I submit to the system, play the part written for me, suppress rogue behavior, I’ll be gifted some level of comfort — accomodations in my cell. I see others with accomodations. It looks nice, but then of course it would in this place, where everything is upside down.

Perhaps I’m on the edge of disturbing what sustains their world.

Maybe what goes on in our labyrinth really is upholding balance. At least that’s what they tell me.

“Play your part, and you’ll be blessed.”

Do the subjects in an ant farm, sitting in a 9 year old’s bedroom, understand their performance in an elementary school project? Living their captivity serves a higher purpose. But it leaves them at the mercy of a half-baked god.

What happens when the subject is a creative species of higher cognition? How would they best be subjugated?

Think Tower of Babel.

I can feel one watching now, perhaps only amused I haven’t taken heed of their warning.

They’ll have to watch me stick my tiny finger in the outlet, and account for what it sets off.

CRB