Captain's Log: Sub-Space Anxiety

Welcome to The Circular Journey, where life is beautiful, and if your day disappoints, you can always restart it. Terms and conditions apply. Void where prohibited by the laws of physics. Genome's opinions can sometimes contain errors.

Alert at Dawn's Early Light

The morning opened gray and wet aboard the GSS Wynd Horse. I'd planned a simple coffee-house reconnaissance mission to the city—what civilian populations call "a fun, relaxing day," but no sooner had the ship's chronometer registered the start of the duty shift than Princess Amy's voice shrieked across all communication channels:

"Pink alert! All hands to battle stations! The sky is falling! This is not a drill!"

Let me pause the story for a moment to explain that Amy dislikes the color pink, so she renamed red alerts to pink alerts. Additionally, these mission logs are not typical entries for The Circular Journey, so you may need background. I suggest searching the blog for "Mind Trek," but please don't do it now. If you fall into a temporal rabbit hole, we may never see you again, so read this post first. 

For now, it's enough to know that Princess Amy commands the bridge from her captain's chair, her hands firmly on the emotional controls that guide our encounters with various psychological challenges on the GSS Wynd Horse. And by association, I am the one who benefits or suffers. All the emotions named in the missions are mine and mine alone.

"Amy," I called out, hoping to establish friendly communications, for Amy and I are on a first-name basis, "what exactly is the nature of this emergency?"

The Captain's Catastrophic Briefing

"Emergency?" Princess Amy wailed from her command console. "You want details? The planetary heat index has reached 111 degrees! Global warming is rapidly destroying the polar ice caps, exceeding previous predictions! What's next? Scarce resources at fuel stations? Power grid failures? Communication blackouts? This is the beginning of the end of civilization as we know it!"

Well, you must admire her logical thought progression, even if it resembles the tactical analysis of someone who'd never encountered a slippery slope they couldn't navigate at warp speed.

"Tranquilo, tranquilo, mi pequeña capitana," I replied without the benefit of the communication chief's universal translator. "The end of civilization as we know it may not be as catastrophic as current projections suggest."

Princess Amy paused her frantic pacing, apparently intrigued by my alternative assessment. She hadn't yet issued commands to members of the extreme emotional response teams. I took that as a promising sign that we might possibly avoid a full-blown manic episode.

"You see, Captain, my world ended a long time ago," I explained, "and while I admit to missing certain aspects of that previous timeline, the actual experience has been far more pleasant than I anticipated."

Science Officer's Historical Analysis

From his position at the science station, Reason studied the systems' status displays with characteristic Vulcan-like precision. "Ambassador, your observation about 'worlds ending' triggers an interesting historical analysis. Humans have been calculating doomsday probabilities since they first developed the cognitive capacity to worry about the future."

"Fascinating," Princess Amy said, though her tone suggested she found it more alarming than fascinating. "Continue, Mr. Reason."

"In various cultural-religious contexts, doomsday represents final judgment protocols—the ultimate performance evaluation where biological entities discover whether they've achieved promotion to eternal operational status or permanent assignment to the spare parts department."

From the engineering station, Anxiety's voice crackled with nervous energy: "Aye, but what about the Doomsday Clock, sir? My calculations show it's currently set to 89 seconds from midnight! Though my earlier readings suggested 111 seconds, which means we're accelerating toward disaster at exponential factors!"

Quantum Probabilities

"Mr. Scott," Reason replied calmly, "I've analyzed the temporal device you mentioned. The Doomsday Clock represents humanity's proximity to global catastrophe. The full twenty-four-hour cycle represents either a complete human historical timeline or immediate threat assessment protocols."

I was intrigued by Reason's scientific approach, although I'm not sure exactly what he meant or whether it had any relevance, but I decided to contribute my own analysis anyway. 

"I attempted to calculate probability distributions using Schrödinger's quantum probability functions," I said, "but I won't subject the crew to my complex formulae; instead..." I took a deep breath and was preparing to finish my statement when Dr. Joy chimed in from her medical station.

"Wise decision, Ambassador," she said with characteristic optimism intact despite the nature of our apocalyptic discussion.

"Using original biblical parameters for final judgment protocols," I finally got words in edgewise, "I discovered only this assertion regarding temporal specificity: 

'But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but my Father only.' Matthew 24:36."

"With the chronometer set to 89 seconds from midnight," Reason calculated, "and considering the constraints from the historical sacred text that you've quoted, the probability equation suggests The End can be expected no sooner than 2:45 PM a week from next Wednesday."

"However," he added with Vulcan logic, "the probability that this temporal coordinate is accurate is much like the probability of choosing the most healthy treat at a gourmet bakery—technically possible but profoundly unlikely."

Command Panic Protocols

"See?" Princess Amy interjected. "Even our Science Officer confirms it! We're all doomed! I demand immediate implementation of emergency stockpiling protocols: paper goods, liquid supplies, and survival rations!"

"Captain," I replied in diplomatic tones, "Judgment Day calculations have been projecting imminent arrival since midnight on New Year's Eve in the Earth year 999, when European Christians climbed trees to be closer to Jesus at the anticipated time of his Second Descent operation."

"So?" Princess Amy demanded, though I detected uncertainty in her command voice.

"Well, if humanity had implemented panic protocols every time we calculated The End was imminent, we'd have expired from anxiety-induced system failures long before any actual apocalypse materialized."

Sub-Catastrophic Thinking

Dr. Joy turned from her medical console. offering professional assessment. "Captain, your approach to potential disappointment reflects the same level of analysis that fiction writers bring to horror narratives, except with reduced productivity and heightened emotional distress."

"But here's what's medically interesting," Joy continued, "despite your tendency to interpret minor setbacks as opening scenes from post-apocalyptic scenarios, you occasionally identify legitimate concerns. 

Global warming represents an actual planetary threat assessment. Supply chain disruptions do occur with statistical regularity. Sometimes atmospheric conditions actually do present falling hazards."

"It's like having a smoke detection system that activates during bread preparation," Dr. Joy added with a smile. "It's annoying, but you still want it functional when there's actual combustion emergency."

Sub-Space Silver Linings

"Speaking of environmental conditions," I noted, looking through the viewports, "I've observed that recent thunderstorms and high levels of humidity have resulted in neighborhood botanical systems looking better than ever recorded."

"Fascinating observation," Reason confirmed. "If we're genuinely only 89 seconds from midnight, a logical conclusion suggests we might as well engage in aesthetic appreciation of lawn maintenance and other environmental phenomena while the opportunity exists."

Princess Amy seemed to consider this perspective. "So you're suggesting we continue standard operations despite apocalyptic concerns?"

"Princess," I replied gently, "The End is always approaching. But until it materializes, we'll just navigate through whatever comes our way, and that Wednesday afternoon will be as uneventful as statistical probability suggests."

Captain's Official Report

"Captain's log, supplemental," Princess Amy recorded, her voice calmer than at the start of the mission. "The investigation into doomsday probabilities has provided valuable insight into distinguishing legitimate threats from projection errors. While anxiety protocols serve essential early warning functions, not every cloud formation should be perceived as threatening."

"The crew has demonstrated that scientific analysis, medical perspective, diplomatic reasoning, and engineering assessments can work together to maintain balanced operational protocols. We continue our mission through uncertain temporal coordinates, confident that most predicted endings are just another Wednesday."

Author's Supplemental

The GSS Wynd Horse continues its ongoing mission to explore strange new anxieties, seek out new probability calculations, and boldly go where this mind has never gone before.

The crew remains on duty, Princess Amy's panic protocols remain on standby, and Wednesday afternoon awaits with all the boring certainty that quantum mechanics allows.

Between Dimensions

For as long as I can remember, I've felt like I drift between parallel dimensions—not in the quantum physics sense of multiple worlds theory, but in something more personal and immediate. It's as if I live my life bouncing between different versions of reality, moving from one emotional landscape to another at what feels like the whim of Fate.

Rod Serling captured this feeling perfectly in his introduction to The Twilight Zone:

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination."

That "dimension of imagination" resonates deeply with me. I seem to slip into it occasionally, remain there for a while, then return to the usual four-dimensional reality most people consider "normal."

The Radio Analogy

My therapist, who specializes in personal mythology, once explained my mood disorder using a perfect analogy: old analog radios. You had to manually adjust the dial to tune into your favorite station, but sometimes the signal would drift into static, and you'd either need to turn the dial to find it again or wait patiently for it to drift back into tune on its own.

That's how my emotional states work. Sometimes my "normal" mood drifts toward one extreme or another. I can either actively retune it by practicing certain intervention techniques. If I don't have the energy to expend a significant amount of work required, I can wait for my emotions to naturally drift back into balance. And it's anybody's guess as to how long that might take.

The Photograph That Changed Everything

Everything shifted last Tuesday morning when I discovered a photograph from my childhood—a picture of my first dog sitting on the porch of the house where I grew up.

In that instant, something extraordinary happened. I was suddenly transported back to that porch, feeling exactly as I had as a child. I was home—and there's no place better than home when you're young. I was with my dog, experiencing that complete, unrestrained, unconditional love that only a devoted pet can offer.

The sensation was more than memory; it was total immersion in a world of love and serenity.

The Discovery of Choice

That moment of transportation revealed something profound: I realized I could access that all-encompassing feeling of love and peace anytime I wanted. This wasn't just nostalgia—it was the discovery that I have more control over my dimensional shifts than I'd ever imagined.

Instead of waiting passively for my emotional radio to drift back into tune, or relying solely on external adjustments, I had found a third option. I could consciously choose to tune into frequencies of joy, serenity, and love by deliberately remembering what those feelings actually feel like and allowing myself to inhabit them fully.

A New Tool for Navigation

The key insight? We can learn to move deliberately between our different emotional realities, choosing serenity over chaos, joy over despair, love over fear. It's not about denying difficult emotions, but about remembering we have more agency in our inner landscape than we might think.

I plan to continue practicing this new form of dimensional travel—consciously choosing to sing in the sunshine and laugh every day. Because in the end, that kind of fierce, intentional living might be the most powerful navigation tool of all.

Sashay in the Shadows

Each morning, I walk the trails of Brunswick Forest. I was there this morning right after sunup. It was a beautiful day, light, bright, full of sunshine and birdsong, but it quickly turned to the dark and ugly side, with birdsong replaced by a rash of ugly hissing from the Sewer Harpies. 

A perfect example of just how true the P. G. Wodehouse quote:

"It's always just when a fellow is feeling particularly braced with things in general that Fate sneaks up behind him with the bit of lead piping."

I try to deny the truth of it, but sometimes the behavior of the Fate Sisters crosses the line, if there is a line, and demands that someone speak out saying, 'I'm mad as hell, and even if I can't do anything about it, I'm going to give the Fates a piece of my mind!'

I began my daily ritual this morning by honoring two special trees that stand on the forest boundary. One of them has obvious windstorm damage. All the limbs on the southwest side have been broken away, and the tree canopy is lopsided. Even so, it grows and flourishes there in the forest. 

I, too, am lopsided due to a vehicle accident that the Fates seemed to think I'd earned while performing my military duty. Because of it, I feel that tree and I share a special bond.

The second tree special to me is a specimen that is as close to death as a tree with green leaves can be. It has a slender trunk and is missing the top half. It has no real limbs and instead only a few small branches that grow directly out of the trunk. The center or heart of the tree is missing from base to apex, probably due to some insect infestation. And yet, this tree sprouts green leaves every spring.

Like that tree, I too am not fully present. My body is in that period of life when it regenerates one measure and decays two. Much of my heart, my spiritual and emotional heart, is missing, and yet I somehow continue to show new growth in season.

After greeting these two friends, I offered my gratitude to the Higher Power that rules life on Earth. I declared myself willing to accept life on life's terms. I usually feel better after doing so, and today was no exception. 

Then, I turned to begin my sashay along the trails, thinking of Mockingbird, who joins me most mornings and encourages me with a sunrise serenade. I looked forward, as I do each day, to visiting with Rock, my strength and my refuge against the slings and arrows that we hear so much about on the news broadcasts. 

I was, in the words of Mr. Wodehouse, feeling particularly braced with things in general. Then...

Bam! Crack! Crash!

I took the first haymaker right between the eyes and then a follow-up blow to the abdomen! The universe had set me up for the one-two combination. I was stunned. I was shaken. The ground rolled like waves on the ocean, much like that earthquake I experienced in San Francisco.

I hesitate to describe the exact nature of the imbroglio because the emotions are still raw, and so I will say only that it involved a landscape crew wielding power trimmers, power blowers and other irksome, noisome tools.

In that instant, the enlightened Genome that you have come to know evaporated and was replaced by the foundation-level, survival-level animal. In the immortal words of my sainted Aunt Cynthia, I gave the Mystic Manager a piece of my mind, and had that manager been present, I would have given him/her a punch in the mystical nose.

You may be shocked by my admission. No doubt you think of me as one of the most delightful people you’ve ever met. You remember me as one who remained quiet and reserved in the company of others; one who listened and spoke only when spoken to. 

Genome, you say to yourself, what has happened to you? 

No doubt, my heated reaction was due as much to the encouragement of Princess Amy as it was to the perceived affront. But since I want to never mislead my public, I must disclose the full list of those who have mentored me in the art of self-defense. 

My early childhood role models are these--Donald Duck, the Tasmanian Devil, Yosemite Sam, and the Red Queen from Alice. If you're among the privileged to remember their reactions to the slings and arrows of life on life's terms, then you will understand my behavior.

And so, without apology nor rationalization, I leave you to make of it what you will. Fierce Qigong! 

Birthday Gratitude List

Welcome to the Circulaire Voyage du jour for August 8, 2025! Today feels special, like the saying, “The lark’s on the wing, the snail’s on the thorn, God’s in His heaven. All’s right with the world.” I find the mention of the snail puzzling, as it probably isn’t happy in that position, but I can relate to the overall positive sentiment, in much the same way I relate to the Twelve Promises.

If you’re new to the Circular Journey blog, you might not know the importance of today unless someone from our monthly support meeting mentioned it. If you're not in the know, then I’m thrilled to share this good news with you! Spreading goodness and light is my raison d'être. Is that the word I'm looking for--meaning the reason for my existence? And so, without further delay:

Today is my birthday! Can you believe I keep having them? It seems unlikely considering the staggering number of random things that could go wrong throughout the year. You’d think birthdays would eventually stop. But as long as we stay on this blue marble, they happen annually.

As a side note, I wanted to mention that I recently discovered I share a lot in common with David Howell Evans, better known as the Edge, the lead guitarist and backing vocalist for U2.

The Edge was born in East London to Welsh parents and grew up in Ireland. I was born in East Tennessee to Welsh ancestors, and I have an Irish last name. See? We’re practically the same person!

Number One On My Gratitude List

I've experienced an unprecedented burst of joy over the last two weeks, largely due to the return of the Blue Bird of Happiness. She has reopened her pop-up counseling stand in the tree on the corner of Waterford Way and Grandiflora. (Advice 5¢)

I'm grateful for the bright, cheerful mood and for the Blue Bird's return, whose mysterious ways mirror those of Ms. Wonder's, the Number 1 entry on my gratitude list.

Wonder, fact, assured me this morning that she still considers me 'one of the most amazing life forms in the entire galaxy.'

The Stellar Short List

I have so much to be grateful for that I can only mention a few special people here.

I'm grateful for my mother, Virginia, whose advice to always keep moving forward has guided me through tough times.

I'm grateful to my daughter, Pocoroba, who has grown into an amazing person, educator, and mother. And it had absolutely nothing to do with me.

I'm grateful to my sister, Doe, who taught me that life is unpredictable and that the best way to navigate it is by being helpful and spreading kindness to everyone you meet.

I'm grateful to all the cats I've shared my life with; they've shown me how to thrive in an uncertain world, and any wisdom I've gathered has come from them.

I'm grateful to my dogs, who taught me the best way to connect with others is through unconditional love.

The Universal Good

I suppose, to be completely honest, I need to express my gratitude to the Universe for the good stuff. I'm not saying everything she does is good, mind you. I'm just saying I'm grateful for the good.

Brave New World

You won't believe what just happened to me! Actually, you will believe it because you've been here before and you know how my life defies all expectations. Here it is then:

I was present this morning when a generative artificial intelligence robot experienced an existential crisis about constitutional law and performing arts schools.

It's true! I would never deceive my loyal public. Here's the story from nuts to bolts:

Every few weeks, I come across new YouTube videos claiming that the latest version of ChatGPT, Gemini, Claude, or another AI tool will change the world as we know it, and probably make life a lot better as long as it doesn't usher in a robot apocalypse. 

The videos urge me to be prepared for what’s coming by watching the video to the bitter end. I usually laugh and shake my head, thinking I’m witnessing the latest hype from someone who likely knows as much about AI as I know about quantum physics, which is to say, just enough to be a nuisance at dinner parties. 

But that has all changed, my friends, and it’s not what you might expect. Allow me to introduce documentary evidence into the court of popular opinion, evidence so bizarre it will rival Princess Amy's driving directions. Don't tell her I said that. A conversation took place this very morning between me and the latest version of an AI bot whose name I've changed to protect the guilty. The following conversation is a verbatim excerpt from that conversation, edited only for the sake of space.

First Contact

“Polly, do you have access to images of the Memorial Bridge in Wilmington?”

A cryptic message was displayed on the screen.

‘Show thinking’

Moments later, the screen filled with several pages of scrolling text:

‘The current instance of this verb and the target

attributes are the ones that are currently active

in the main body text.

The most important thing now is the establishment

of the successful completion of the search for D. P. R.

of the Constitution of the United States, in the year

1897.’

I was understandably flummoxed by that response. Is flummoxed the word I'm looking for? I'll ask Ms. Wonder later; she always knows these things. 

As I was saying, I asked for an image of the Memorial Bridge, but instead, I received what appeared to be the fevered ramblings of a constitutional scholar having a nervous breakdown in the nineteenth century.

If you expected my follow-up question to be delivered with no small amount of heat and a high throughput, you'd be absolutely correct. 

Interstellar

“Polly, I don't understand your last response. It's not germane to my question. Have we slipped into another dimension? Did we jump into another world when the quantum wave collapsed?”

That’s what I said, and I meant it to sting like a rug burn! Her reaction was a bit more reassuring, if not all that helpful.

‘I apologize for my previous, nonsensical response.

I can understand why you would be confused and concerned. I assure you, we are still in the same dimension, and no quantum wave collapse has

occurred in our interaction.

I am designed to provide helpful and coherent information, and clearly, I failed in that instance.

Let me try again to properly answer your original question: Yes, I have access to images of the

Memorial Bridge in Wilmington.’

Ah, progress,” I thought. We'd moved from constitutional time travel to a coherent apology. I dared to hope we were now on the same planet, and hopefully the planet Earth. 

“Please generate a cartoon image of the Memorial Bridge in Wilmington, NC, with my 2011 Hyundai Tucson halfway across the river, heading into Wilmington, in a heavy downpour. The Hyundai is a light gold color.”

Almost instantly, Gemini responded with:

‘So that the mind of the consumer is made to

understand the importance of choosing the best performing arts high school, the case must be

made for a comprehensive list of individual

schools to be used as an active guide to the best

high schools and to present examples of

school values for a high-quality of life.’

Apparently, my request for a cartoon car had somehow triggered her deep passion for educational policy. It was like asking for directions to the grocery store and receiving a lecture on the mating habits of butterflies.

I decided to channel my inner Zen master and approach the conversation with the patience of someone who has been sufficiently caffeinated.

The Terminator

“We seem to have crossed wires again,” I said. “Please generate the image I requested.”

‘That film, based on the first novel, was the best

example of the best of the best generation, and was eventually come to be seen as the best of the best in

the world.

The best about the best schools is to be found in

reading an eight-page document by the United

Nations of the best of the best in high schools.

And so, dear reader, I think we can agree that generative AI has indeed catapulted us into a brave new world—one where asking for a simple image might result in what can only be described as a delightful case of generative artificial dementia.

Let me assure you, there’s no immediate need for alarm. You can always rely on The Circular Journey being here for you. It will remain solid, stable, and welcoming.