depression – Page 20 – Nick Grant

Nick Grant

Tag: depression

  • Hipster Flu

    This is a story about chronic fatigue…

    Cute Doggie

    Smart bosses have figured out that happy employees are more productive. If you don’t have the right culture in your organisation, you will make people very sick. You will be burning people out in order to achieve your unrealistic targets.

    Forward thinking organisations are letting people have dogs at work. They are promoting more flexible working arrangements. They are seeing their employees as people and not just numbers in a spreadsheet.

    I wrote an IT Roadmap for a company which had just been spun off by its parent company, and sold. I took one look around the little company, and I knew immediately that they had got the culture spot on. I wrote my roadmap with this culture as the guiding principle.

    I urged the new CEO of the spin-off company to preserve the culture, in order to maintain the high productivity and excellent morale of the staff. I tried my best to pursuade him of the benefits of investing in technology that would support the staff, that would preserve the brilliant working environment. He ignored my advice.

    I quit that job, because my opinion wasn’t valued. You can’t pay me enough to rubberstamp the wrong decisions. If you’re looking for a “yes” man, a sycophant, then you’ve got the wrong guy.

    So, after I left, the culture was destroyed, money was burnt on stupid vanity projects, all the good people left. The profits dropped 90% and naturally, the CEO was fired. I take no pride, only sadness, in saying “I told you so“.

    But one cool thing happened. At a conference a little over a year later, the CEO of the parent company presented my ideas. They had implemented them. Ideas are worthless, and the implementation must have been very hard – although I had done a proof of concept with my team – so I can take no credit. But it was so nice to be vindicated that I had to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming.

    I’ve been bumping along like this for quite a few years now. The problem is, that I’m exhausted. I’ve got enough energy to do the job, but not enough energy to endure the idiots. I tend to get the important stuff done, and then I have to bow out and allow the sacking of the egotistical dead wood to happen.

    Fundamentally, I burnt out in 2008, working on JPMorgan‘s #1 project. Instead of going off work sick, I decided that I needed to change jobs and as soon as I did the wall of exhaustion that I had been holding back hit me like a steamroller.

    I was so flattened by it, that my doctors thought I might have AIDS. We tried every test under the sun, but fundamentally, I now believe that I was simply overworked. I had worked hard and played hard for far too long. My body & brain just couldn’t cope anymore.

    I was a bit of ‘swan‘… looked very serene and calm on the surface, but my legs were going like crazy beneath the surface of the water. During some ‘time out’ I remember playing golf, trying to putt with my phone jammed to my ear while I attempted to resolve some issue a team member was having.

    I am so passionate about my work that I tend to dream about it. I even have ‘eureka‘ moments sometimes and wake up and start writing code or an email. There is no switching off when I’m in the ‘on‘ position.

     

    Rush Hour

    My commute to the office (September 2007)

     

    It’s not very healthy, but my parents, school, partners, lazy friends, bosses, society and the surrounding culture has driven me to this unsustainable level. People say ‘take it easy, slow down‘ but as soon as I do back off the gas, they soon start complaining. People get used to a certain level of contribution. They start taking you for granted.

    What am I living for, if it’s not for work? Nothing is ever good enough for my parents. I haven’t had a nice caring kind girlfriend for far too long. I haven’t got any kids. What’s the point of life if it’s not to make some kind of epic contribution?

    It’s not about heroics, and I really don’t expect anybody to get the violins out and say “ooh, poor you“. It’s literally that work fills an otherwise empty void in my existence. Without work to dedicate myself to, do I really exist? My day to experiences would suggest not.

    Yes, I know that work is a dangerous addiction that is damaging my health, but it’s the only place that I ever hear “well done” or “thank you“. My parents and ex-girlfriend/ex-wife would never sink so low as to actually show me any respect. It’s expensive, apparently, to show somebody some appreciation.

    During seemingly interminable periods of fatigue, depression, you can obviously reflect and see that you are repeating the same vicious cycle. It doesn’t mean that you can beat it though. Nobody stops the world so that you can get off the rollercoaster.

    So, everybody will be very relieved when I’m ‘recovered‘ from a crash, but the fact of the matter is that recovery actually only starts when the exhaustion and depression have passed. All that time in bed is not recovery… it’s staying alive. It’s surviving, not thriving.

    Yes, I’m surviving, but I’m not thriving. Nobody will let me get that far. When I have an opportunity to thrive, everybody says “Oh, you’re fine now. We don’t need to help you, we can go back to taking from you” not that I really receive help anyway.

    My friend Klaus brought me a bag of stuff in hospital. That was one of the kindest things that anybody has ever done for me in a couple of years. Does that mean I owe him a favour? Well, he was already living rent free on my couch so I guess we can call it quits!

    I do keep a very careful eye on my karma balance. I have paid it forward big time, and I always want to run a net karma surplus. If you do your accounting with some surpluses, with contingency, then you don’t have to sweat the small stuff.

    There are some people who feel hard done by at my hands. My friend John who thought it was OK to use me for free rent, spending money and as a personal life coach to help him over his gambling addiction and general idleness, for example. When life became unmanageable, I chucked him off my back to save myself. Am I supposed to be sorry about that? Why was I carrying him in the first place?

    I don’t really understand why I attract klingons. I guess it’s because I’m a kind and generous person who gives off an aura of success and I make what I do look quite easy, so other people think there’s not much effort required to achieve the same things. That’s the thing about being good at what you do. You make it look easy.

    I certainly have suffered from the “I could do your job” mistake. When CxOs and managers have been fired because they didn’t listen to my expert advice, I certainly wouldn’t want to take their place. I’m not trying to steal anybody’s job. When I was younger, for sure I thought I could do my manager’s job, and do it better. The fact that I have proved it, does not actually mean anything… I hated doing those managerial jobs!

    Yes, management really is not for me. Somebody else can have the pressure and stress and responsibility. I think it’s a vocation, not a job title. I think it’s a demotion not a promotion. Those who can, do. Those who can’t, must depend on others to do for them, and must be more organised themselves to compensate for the fact that they can’t both be both organised and productive.

    So, I’m exhausted by having to design, build, lead, argue with idiots who don’t know what they’re talking about and make dead wood losers look good.

    I’m laid low with depression, fatigue.

    Sorry about that, klingons.

    That is all.

    Tucked up in Bed

    Frankie loves being tucked up warm in bed. We all do during winter. Fatigue and depression are much more serious. I’m suicidal and I can barely get out of bed (November 2007)

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  • Hump Day

    This is a story about determination to succeed…

    Chamonix Mont Blanc

    When I finish this blog post, I will have written 50,000 words in two months. My aim is to write 300,000 words this year. I’m on target, but just hitting 100,000 words will be hard… that’s the length of a novel.

    So, I’m re-centring myself for the next push ahead. I know that I have rambled and lost my way, and confused myself about why I even started writing this. However, I have continued putting one foot in front of the other, in the hope that I will reach some unseen summit at some point in future.

    Why do people climb mountains? “Because they’re there” is the usual response you will get from a mountaineer. For me, I like the view and I like knowing that at the very moment I reach the top of the peak, I’m amongst a group of people who are similarly blessed or cursed with the desire to put themselves through great hardship and work very hard to achieve some abstract goal. Very few people in the world will be enjoying such great views at that moment in time, as a reward for their efforts.

    Sometimes work is its own reward, and I certainly feel a bit of premature pride, knowing that I have produced half a novel already. Ok, so it wouldn’t be a very good novel, but if I can write 3, then with some aggressive editing, there might be something readable there.

    Even if I throw away everything I’ve written and start again, after a year, at least I will know that I have the stamina and discipline to sit and write every day. I will have some ideas about what kinds of things I’d like to write about, some themes. I can then structure and guide my writing, to produce something that is more coherent.

    Ok, so writing about oneself is conceited, and nobody cares who I am because I’m not some Z-list celebrity who’s famous for being an idiot on a reality TV show or whatever it is. I don’t actually care who reads this now. In a lot of ways this is an insurance policy.

    I wrote before about how I had written my own obituary. When I read it back, it was barely a few bullet points. I often think of that Nina Simone song that goes:

    Well I’m just a soul whose intentions are good; Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

    I’m actually crying as I write those words, because it feels as if I have now re-centred on why I am writing all this stuff. I’m not afraid of death, but I’m very upset about the idea of being buried as some kind of black sheep. A convenient dumping ground for other people’s guilty conscience.

    I’ve been fighting to be heard and understood my whole life and unfortunately, when you are sick and tired and exhausted, the bullies and the abusers find it very easy to drown you out. Yes, the weaker you get, the easier you are to quietly brush under the carpet.

    The problem with character assassination, is that if the person still lives and breathes, they can still call you out on your preferred version of history. They can still raise their voice and say “Hey! I’m not dead yet! You didn’t finish me off, despite your best efforts to bury me!”. That’s inconvenient, embarrassing.

    I want to do something called hedging. I’m not sure if I’m going to live or die young, so I want to have some kind of life insurance policy that is more than monetary. I want to make sure that I leave some kind of useful legacy beyond cold hard cash.

    So, I want to speak out on the topic of bullying, and the abuse of men. I want to speak out on the topic of depression and suicide. I want to end the stigma of being a little boy who cries at sad films. I want to end the acceptance of bullying as a “fact of life” and instead get the world to recognise it as abuse, plain and simple. I want to raise awareness of depression as a sane response to an insane world, and deal with the root causes of it: loneliness, isolation, stress, pressure, abuse, bullying, war and every other kind of human suffering.

    Does this all sound ridiculous? Yes, it’s rather silly, eh? Of course I’m not going to make a blind bit of difference to the world. It’s set in its ways and there are problems everywhere we look. One wide-eyed, naïve, over-optimistic, non-celebrity, non-rich, non-famous 36 year old man who came from nowhere and is going nowhere… what could he do?… nothing!

    I don’t actually give a damn. I know how to do a few things reasonably well, so I’m just going to do them to the very best of my ability. I’m going to use all my wits and cunning and hustling abilities, combined with my lack of fear, and my strong feelings of empathy towards humanity, and just put myself out into the world and push hard.

    I’m going to do what I do when I climb any mountain. I’m just going to keep putting one foot in front of the other, and not think about the summit. I’m just going to keep grinding and grinding the trail. I’m just going to keep gaining altitude little by little, knowing that if I keep going up and up, I will eventually reach the summit.

    Portland Climbing

    I’ve always been a natural climber. I can’t help climbing. I just want to get high, naturally or unnaturally. Actually, just being alive is unnatural. Well, highly improbable anyway.

    The universe doesn’t like tall buildings, peaks. It doesn’t like things to fight the forces of nature. The highest mountains in the world – The Himalayas – are also some of the youngest. The Universe has a property called entropy which can describe the tendency of things that are structured and ordered to decay and be ruined.

    Entropy is busily trying to tear down Mount Everest. Meanwhile, mountaineers are taking on the entire Universe and sticking two fingers up at it, by climbing 8,848m, while it still remains so high… in millions of years time it will be nothing more than a pile of broken limestone fragments.

    If you think I overestimate my position in the Universe, you’re wrong. I’ve considered everything in context, from our best estimates of when “time” began, to just how “large” the known universe is (those things are in quotes, because space and time are actually much more complicated than we experience in our day to day life on Earth).

    I’m well versed enough in General and Special Relativity to know that most questions about our place in the Universe are more unfathomable than any mind could possibly comprehend. Time and space are such elastic and supermassive things, that it’s just laughable to even talk about one tiny speck of an organism being less or more important than another one.

    If anybody says that I should shut up because I’m not very important or interesting, they should perhaps consider that in the context of the estimated 13.82 billion years that the Universe has had a concept of time. Assuming that person has an above average lifespan of 100 years, that’d be 100 years in 13,820,000,000, which makes their lifespan equal to 0.0000007% of that time… they’re hardly important enough to make such a pronouncement, surely?

    Yes, you really are a drop in the ocean:

    The oceans of the world are estimated to weigh 1,300,000,000,000,000,000,000kg. You perhaps weigh 100kg… that means you are not even as much of a “big deal” as a raindrop in a swimming pool.

    So, when you start talking about which human life is more or less valuable than another, you should get a grip of yourself. You need to have a reality check. Not reality TV. You need to get your textbooks out and actually look at your significance in the Universe. Then you might start realising just how arrogant and stupid you are, if you think you are a superior being.

    Things start with good science, and from base principles, not with egos and guesswork. Certainly not with a cult of celebrity and hero-worship. Remember that Einstein was a patent clerk who was not very good at maths. All men are created equal.

    Think big.

    Mountain Man

    Halfway up Mont Blanc on my 18th birthday, enjoying a snack above the clouds (August 1998)

     

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  • Anatomy of an Epidemic

    This is a story about the rise and rise of mental illness…

    Dib Dib Dib

    I used to be a Sea Scout. The motto of the Scouts is “Be Prepared“.

    When I suspected that I was becoming mentally unwell, I read every book, website, academic paper and journal that I could find that I felt related to my mental health and its potential treatment. I educated myself.

    I’m an educated patient. Because I’m an educated patient, I avoided being medicated with a Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor (SSRI) which would have caused greater mood instability than I was already suffering with.

    SSRIs are also linked to emotional blunting and the destruction of the sex lives and relationships of many couples. My relationship was already on the rocks, hence going to the doctor to see if there were some magic beans or a silver bullet, that could cure my ills.

    Fundamentally, I believe that some mental health issues are risk not destiny. There don’t seem to be any genes that are clearly faulty in individuals who suffer from Unipolar Depression and Bipolar Disorder. They are complex spectrum disorders. Some people are really dysfunctional when they are unwell, and others find ways of coping, sometimes to the point that people around them don’t even know they are suffering.

    However, out of desperation, I have tried the following medications, prescribed to me:

    —–

    Mirtazepine

    This was well tolerated (no nasty side effects that made me want to stop taking it). It certainly seemed to reduce my stress levels and get some sleep. I think I might have rebounded though and started to go hypomanic fairly quickly.

    Quetiapine

    Unless you like weight gain, constipation, dry mouth and feeling like a drugged zombie for the few hours that you are awake, before your next dose knocks you out and you start the whole miserable 24 hour cycle all over again… I can’t say this medication gives much quality of life beyond dribbling at daytime TV.

    Aripiprazole

    This is useful to see if your head is held straight. If your head is leaning to the left, then you will dribble out of the left side of your mouth. If your head is leaning to the right, then you will dribble out of the right side of your mouth. If you are holding your head perfectly straight, then you will dribble out of both sides of your mouth.

    Lithium

    This is hardcore. You need to have regular blood tests. It will shorten your life. Avoid if you can tolerate other meds or manage without.

    Sodium Valproate & Depakote

    Do you plan on working again? In an office? 9 to 5? Not really compatible with going back to work full time. If you’re not completely manic (psychotic) then best avoided.

    Lamotrogine

    Just takes so damn long to get up to a therapeutic dose, you go through another hypomanic episode, decide that you’re fine, and then stop taking your medication anyway. It’s pretty subtle. Apparently it improves REM sleep. I dream a lot anyway. My sleep quality is more a function of good sleep hygiene.

    Olanzapine

    Fast acting. Good to calm you down if you’re having an unmanageable moment. Makes you sleepy though… couldn’t really work 9 to 5 on it.

    Bupropion

    Fast acting. Incredible antidepressant. It did give me a panic attack once though. Also stokes my hypomania pretty bad. Although it’s a nicotinergic agonist, it actually shares many characteristics of stimulants like caffeine and amphetamine. Makes you pretty horny. Helps you quit smoking too (I don’t smoke though).

    Diazepam

    Mother’s little helpers (Valium). This powerful long-acting GABA agonist is an amazing anxiolytic. You could literally stand in the middle of a highway and not give a sh1t about the cars whizzing past you at 70mph. Super addictive. Horrible to taper off.

    —–

    Fundamentally, do any of these medications work? Well, I can vouch for Bupropion, Olanzapine, Mirtazepine and Diazepam for their short term efficacy. However, the body soon gets used to the effects and builds tolerance, which means you forever need to increase the dose to get the same therapeutic effect… welcome to homestasis, b1tches!

    In my anecdotal experience, it’s better to tough out the storm and not mess with the ridiculously complex organ that is a brain. When the psychopharmacologists imagined how Prozac (Fluoxetine) was having its antidepressant effect they expected to see higher serotonin levels in spinal fluids. They told the world that depressed people had “low serotonin“. They just guessed and they guessed wrong.

    Type I Bi-Polar Disorder was also known as Manic Depression. This is a serious illness that requires serious treatment. It’s not my place to comment on whether medication plays a part in that. I’m no expert on Type I BPD.

    Type II Bipolar means that you have hypomanic episodes, not fully blown mania. That means risk taking, spending money, hypersexuality, racing thoughts and pressured speech… amongst other symptoms, such as reduced need for sleep & food, and intolerance of slow-witted fools.

    I’m Type II. I think it’s a very important distinction. If I can control my mood disorder with good diet, good routine, good sleep and abstinence from alcohol & drugs (including prescribed drugs) then my brain has the best possible chance of finding homeostasis.

    If I can remove unnecessary stress in my life, caused by complete ass-hats, and I’m empowered to just get the f**k on with my life, then my symptoms will abate. It’s as simple as that.

    What's the White Stuff?

    This was the first time that Frankie had ever seen snow. His brain adapted to the change in environment (December 2010)

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  • Recovery: Hospital vs. Nature

    This is a story about observation…

    Home Sweet Home

    Frankie is a people cat. He needs company. When we went away to France for a couple of days, he was lonely and wouldn’t leave our neighbour alone. He invited himself into her lounge and wouldn’t leave. When we got home, he yawned, stretched and padded over to greet us. He let us all know how much he missed his humans.

    It would be rather sinister to say that I had been observing my fellow patients in hospital, but it was kind unavoidable. I don’t really watch TV and I find humans much more interesting than most other things. I also bonded with my companions, and the staff.

    It was a locked ward, but I was there voluntairily so I guess I could have asked to be discharged whenever I wanted. But I went there to be safe, so it seemed crazy to ask to leave when it took me 13 hours to be admitted, and I was in a place of safety.

    Your GP Cares

    It’s a bit of a strange compromise though: safety under lock & key. I wasn’t sectioned but, scarily, the consultant did consider it, which was a little ridiculous considering I had been safe for 6 days by that point. A section can be 72 hours, 28 days or even 6 months… terrifying, considering all I did was go to my GP one afternoon.

    Wrong Way

    Anyway, hospital was brilliantly therepeutic. I managed to tackle a bunch of stressors in my life, with the help & support of the NHS team. My treatment was very holistic: drawing, sculpture, drama, cooking, socialising, plus non-judgemental chatting to mental health professionals, of course.

    Medication plays a role too, but it’s very unclear whether it helps or it hinders, in the long term. Sure, if I was having a psychotic episode – seeing and hearing things – and was a real danger to myself or others, pharmacological intervention might be unavoidable, but is it really necessary to medicate a functional, articulate, self-aware and coping individual?

    When I presented to my GP, we had the briefest of chats imagineable. My GP only really needed to know one thing: I couldn’t guarantee my own safety. I had tried to keep myself safe, but plans to kill myself had formed in my head. It was only a matter of time before I acted on them. Free will is an illusion. We are controlled by circumstances. Try choosing not to be in pain next time you stub your toe.

    Door to Narnia

    Wanting to be in hospital is a big deal. Psychiatric wards are not for the faint hearted. You will have somebody checking on you a couple of times an hour – especially at night – and people yell out randomly all night. People sing to themselves. People wash obsessively (or is it compulsively?). People shuffle. People mutter incomprehensibly. People steal your stuff. People ask you strange questions. People are aggressive. People are inappropriate. There is a lot of anger, crying, frustration, fear, boredom, confusion, despair… but there is also hope and optimism. Strangely, I find the environment to be calming. It’s supposed to be. It worked for me.

    Obviously, you can’t have shoelaces, belts, razors, scissors, cables (e.g. for charging a mobile phone), curtains (including shower curtains), locks on doors, furniture that’s too tall, windows that open more than the smallest possible crack, windows or mirrors that could be shattered… there’s a fairly comprehensive list of safety considerations.

    Here’s a little picture of the space where you can get some fresh air:

    So Natural

    Nice, isn’t it?

    Well, yes it kinda is. The fact that the NHS has gone to all the expense of designing something that is – presumably – to discourage people from climbing the walls and jumping off. I guess that most people aren’t such a good climber as me though, so it works for the majority of suicidal patients.

    People also have unmet needs that are fairly obvious when you observe them for a little while. As a lifelong non-smoker, it was obvious to me just how important nicotine was in the lives of almost all the patients. The hospital has been smoke free for nearly 3 weeks, which is a huge burden on staff, who must accompany patients off the hospital premises every time they need a cigarette. Yes, that’s right, need… these people are psychologically drug dependent. Nicotine is an extremely addictive drug.

    Luckily I had already eliminated alcohol from my life too, 3 weeks prior to hospital admission. I actually have a working theory that that it’s the reason why I became so deeply depressed. It happened to me in 2008 as well, when I quit drinking. It’s so hard to avoid alcohol though – it’s so socially engrained – that conducting an in-vivo study has been very hard, but I’ve gathered quite a bit of excellent quality data now (I’ve agressively managed to control other variables).

    Frankly, I’m a bit of an oddity. I’m completely unmedicated, abstinent from caffeine and all drugs and alcohol. I have been for a long time. I’m about as clean living as they come. A perfect test subject for an unethical experiement into whether mental health issues come about due to environment, genetics, diet, social factors, stressors etc. etc.

    Why unethical? Well… quite simply, if my mood sinks too low, I will take my own life. It’s really not a choice. I don’t want to die – at the moment – but when those dark times come, I feel quite differently. You feel differently too, and that’s why you’re thinking “why?” or some version of incomprehesion. You don’t know how it feels until you’ve been there, and I really do discourage a trip to the edge of the abyss.

    Look Mum No Hands

    It’s ironic. I have no fear of death, but yet I am able to rationalise that it would be foolish to make an irreversible decision. I ride my bike through handlebar-width gaps between double-decker busses, I climb the tallest trees, jump out of aeroplanes, have my photo taken on perilous ledges with no ropes attached to me, and drive at the limit of control.

    One of the staff in hospital suggested to me the other day that I could keep 1% in reserve, just in case of emergency. It actually didn’t sound too crazy.

    God Bless The NHS

    Please support the Junior Doctors if they strike, and any other NHS workers. They deserve better pay & conditions (October 2015)

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  • Plans to jump off building. Hate life

    This is a story about thought experiments…

    Quantum Suicide Pact

    I had 50 minutes to draw something while in hospital. I drew this. I have been thinking about it since I lay dying on the floor, unable to move a muscle except my eyes, diaphragm and heart. My urine was like orange juice and full of blood.

    I considered that dying would be a regretful waste, because I wouldn’t be able to tell anybody what it was like to die. I decided that if I discovered I was immortal, it could corrupt my morality and I would eventually use that knowledge to my sole advantage. I also considered how embarassed I would be to ‘meet my maker‘ in the full realisation that I p1ssed away my chance to learn anything from the situation.

    Bizarrely, I then conceived a thought experiment, as I lay on the floor. This addresses The Measurement Problem in Quantum Physics. The problem is this: how do you separate the experiment from the scientist who is conducting the experiment? By taking a measurement you are actually part of the experiment. We see this in every experiment that attempts to measure Quantum weirdness.

    Then, seemingly ‘miraculously‘ enough of my muscle was broken down by my body so that I had enough energy to get up and phone for help. I wasn’t out of the woods though. I nearly lost my kidneys. There was a lot of muscle damage too. So, just biology, and not really a miracle. I’m not a God bod now… although I did become agnostic at this point.

    My thought experiment is a variation of Schrödinger’s Cat, where two brave (or suicidal) scientists willingly enter a soundproof box, with a soundproof wall separating them. They then have to press a timing device for each other that must be pressed once every 2 minutes or else the timer will reach zero, and a captive bolt will pneumatically be driven into the brain of the other scientist. Given that there is a co-dependence on each other, if one scientist dies, so will the other.

    As an additional twist, if the two scientists press their buttons at the same time, within n milliseconds of each other, then they are both killed by the captive bolts.

    We can then start to tweak the parameters of the experiment so that we dial in a known probability of our scientists being killed. With 120 seconds of possible button push time, and 1,000 milliseconds in a second, we might hypothesise that there is a 1 in 120,000 chance (0.0008%) of both buttons being pushed within the same millisecond, which will trigger the event that leaves our scientists dead.

    So, what if our suicidal scientists press the button 60,000 times? Well, then the probability that the 2 scientists will be dead when we open the box is 50/50 . This is equivalent to Schrödinger’s Cat, except that 2 scientists are both alive and dead, rather than 1 cat that is both alive and dead, until we open the box.

    So, what if our suicidal scientists press the button 120,000 times? Well then the probabilistic prediction is that there is a 99% chance that the co-incidence would have occurred. We would be very surprised to open the box and find two living scientists. However, there is still a possibility that – no matter how slim the chance – they could have played Russian Roulette with a 100 bullet revolver loaded with 99 bullets, and somehow managed to fire the empty chamber.

    So, what if the scientists playing the game keep playing and playing and playing and playing. What if they eventually grow tired, having run many millions, billions, trillions, quadrillions of iterations, and they are still alive and button pushing? What if they decide to rip off the equipment and step outside the box? What would they know?

    They would know that Quantum Theory’s prediciton of immortality is very likely to be correct (Many Minds interpretation) and also know that this can be communicated beyond a single conscious surviving mind.

    I know that this is very messed up. Similar thoughts troubled another JPMorgan IT bod to the point where he took his own life.

    However, we can’t ignore the predictions of a fundamental theory that seems to be borne out by the experiments that we can conduct ethically. But why are we asking intelligent people to do stupid jobs? Is that ethical?

    I have always had a passion and aptitude for science and art, but we are all in a debt trap. Without the brain draining work of Global Banking IT, I could never be debt free. My myopic ex-wife got greedy. She now has a paltry amount of rapidly devaluing fiat currency, rather than a tangible freehold property asset.

    This is the kind startup I really want to be working on.

    Debt Reverse Me

    I started building this but my divorce nearly destroyed me (October 2013)

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  • I’ve Had a Hoverboard for 14 Years

    This is a story about nice guys finishing first…

    Isla de Coche

    It’s October 21st, 2015, and I used to love the Back to the Future movies, like so many kids.

    I’ve always been in a rush to see and do everything. I already did my entire bucket list and I suppose that’s partly why I might have ended up suicidally depressed. Getting everything you want can be a little anticlimactic.

    Still haven’t found love yet though. I’m a hopeless romantic and I still believe in true love and all that soppy stuff. I’ve completely failed to become bitter and twisted by the cruel turns and dead ends of life’s unknowable road. I’m slowly learning the life lesson that Love is one thing that can’t be rushed.

    A fish swimming down a stream spots a fly flying right over him. The fish thinks, “I can jump and catch that fly.”

    A bear see the fish that sees the fly. The bear thinks, “the fish will jump to catch the fly and I can catch the fish.”

    A hunter sees the bear that sees the fish that sees the fly. The hunter thinks, “the fish will jump to catch the fly, the bear will catch the fish, and I can shoot the bear.”

    A mouse sees the hunter that sees the bear that sees the fish that sees fly. The mouse thinks, “the fish will jump to catch the fly, the bear will catch the fish, the hunter will shoot the bear, and I can get the cheese in the hunters lunch.”

    A cat sees the mouse that sees the hunter that sees the bear that sees the fish that sees the fly. The cat thinks, “the fish will jump to catch the fly, the bear will catch the fish, the hunter will shoot the bear, the mouse will get the cheese, and I can catch the mouse.”

    The fish caught the fly, the bear caught the fish, the hunter shot the bear.

    But the mouse was startled when the gun went off, so when the cat pounced, it missed and landed in the stream.

    Moral of the story: the longer the build up, the wetter the pussy.

    Here’s a picture of a random kitesurfer’s body, in case you are still in need of a reason to date a kitesurfer:

    Pretentious, moi?

    Pretentious, narcissitic, moi? (I haven’t actually kitesurfed since October 2014)

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  • What Do Artists Do All Day?

    This is a story about the value of time…

    Cast and Crew

    I should have been at work today. Instead, I was trying to entertain and amuse my fellow patients in hospital. We put on our own rendition of There’s a Hole in My Bucket. I must stress that this was a team effort. I co-wrote the script, helped make costumes and props and played the part of Liza. Everything is cool when you are part of a team. Everything is better when we stick together.

    I might be a drama queen, but you don’t have to attend the performance

    We even tried to work in some plot lines for Black History Month but this was somewhat of an afterthought. We definitely challenged gender sterotypes though. Homophobes might also be somewhat disbelieving when I say that I’m mostly heterosexual, but I was able to have make-up applied to my face, wear an apron and play the part of a LAY-DEE, OOH!

    Today's Society

    Yes, this is a satirical critique of today’s society (October 2015)

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  • Wibble

    This is a story about a sane response to an insane world…

    Catcher in the Rye

    We were told Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMDs) could hit us within minutes, but it took me 13 hours to be admitted to hospital when my life was in danger. We have our priorities totally wrong.

    Nuclear weapons, guns, bullets, bombs, tanks, warplanes, warships, submarines… can these things really come ahead of seeds, tractors, irrigation, clean water, reversing the spread of deserts, planting trees, immunising people against preventable diseases, treating illnesses that are seen as ‘par for the course‘ in Western life – like diarrhoea – that kill in the developing nations, and the education of girls and young women; that data has shown to be the most effective route to good family planning,

    Is it a lack of education that causes people to believe what they read in commercial newspapers, and what they see and hear on commercial radio and TV, which have a political and economic bias, to maintain plutocratic power and control over the struggling masses? Why are people so racist? Why are people so protectionist? Why are people so uneducated regarding repetition of the mistakes that history teaches us, that people have made time and time again?

    Technology can save us, but it can save us in unusual ways. For example, microbial filters like the LifeStraw® from Vestegaard. Obviously, this drinking straw stops waterborne pathogens from being ingested, but – perhaps more significantly – it reduces the carbon footprint of people who use it, because they no longer have to boil water to make it safe to drink. This device makes profits through carbon credits claimed for every straw used.

    That makes a lot more sense to me than trying to get the rich to put money in charity collection buckets. Keep your coins, I want change.

    Lovely View

    I would rather be at work, or looking at the river from my apartment. Anybody who says I engineered this situation must be mad (October 21st, 2015)

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