Second officer's log, day 1300.

 

I can't sleep.

One of the core shibboleths that get you close to people who wield actual power is that with great power comes great responsibility. Now, one of the great things about this soundbite is its strict logic. While it is true that power begets responsibility, the converse simply isn't true. On the contrary, an intermediate power position can get you in the awkward situation of having to handle a responsibility sandwich -- not being able to take the high-level decisions and yet being expected to react in face of such decisions not taken.

Of such nature is the situation created by the near-dereliction of our First Officer. 

Now, a responsibility sandwich is the white collar's way of making the assembly line machines run faster. More gets done with fewer people, and a smaller management risk. But while I refuse to be held responsible for the following protip, I have to tell you that there are scant ways of estimating how much can be done while on a responsibility sandwich stranglehold. 

Besides, frustration begets sadness with begets reflection which begets "fuck this, I'm going to follow my heart and leave the office early to watch the sunset on empire". And then even less gets done.

So the First Officer is being recalled from his relatively comfortable position where he had been developing his own thing while promising to keep up his work for The Institution. Critically, a shitty computer model that depends on inputs being not only idiot-proof but kind of backwards-induction self-consistent. (In his defense, the better algorithm would depend on many inputs that'd be nearly impossible to calibrate. Or so I have been convinced).

My position had been so far one of persuasion. The Captain, generous with adulation has he has always been, has answered to my insecure chirps of the First Officer being more efficient than me at certain things with a wide-reaching concept of me being the best at persuasion. (What, me?) But having been tasked precisely with persuasion -- with writing the reports that the metaclients will read (we're the consulting company that consulting companies hire when they can't get their shit together). And I've been procrastinating like a motherfucker. I can't bring myself to work on that. It's Boring, and I can't bring myself to do Boring things. There's a mental block, like fear of heights.

If the current ongoing processes continue, I may gradually absorb First Officer duties. Now, this whole "First officer" Star Trek thing makes for a day log formula, but I've done First Officer-ing for quite a few projects, having even the veto over experienced economists' bad ideas. Still, if I'm out of the sandwich and can structure the report around handling the model scenarios myself, I may be less blocked.

Maybe. 

 

Who the hell loses sleep over work -- with work to be done, to boot? The main thing is that being genius-level smart and all, the First Officer has fucked up with my self-esteem. I have done great work -- at least from what it seems -- First Officer-ing directly, and yet handling the dual-manager situation plus the expectation that I'll be perma-synched with the FO's mind (because we're all oh-so-smart and share the same cultural references and whatnot). And you know? It has happened time and again that I was handling quant modeling duties in a shared project and he couldn't insta-synch to what I was thinking and he managed to turn that into me having poor communication/documentation practices.

I've known the FO since we were teenagers. We'll always have some kind of relationship, and it's always going to be complicated. Now I have the impulse to send him an angry email. Thank god for Gmail email goggles. (I should still write a draft in a text editor and take a second look in the morning. Meaning, two hours from now).

 

It's hard to work with a genius, particularly when you're 80-90% of a genius yourself -- but can't quite get there. Your ego sometimes drags you into pretending 100% understanding when there's a critical 10% that'll bite you in the butt. And sometimes you need to crush your ego and say "Ok, explain this to me as if I had 40% of what you have". And get talked over like a child.

(The last part is even harder because lots of steps are a mindfuck when you're ADHD. Part of the reason why we've made a good team for 1300 fucking days is -- besides his ability to subtly bully me and my generally not caring enough to not submit, one or two occasions excepted -- that we're able to communicate in high-bandwidth, low-specified detail language. Something my ADHD can handle, because I can handle decompression very, very well.)

(Yes, actual ADHD, differential diagnosis from bipolar disorder after I had very identifiable bipolar disorder and it was treated and the ADHD picture became clear once the taller wall of mindfuck became clear).

I can't sleep. I have a strange job, with much freedom and understanding, but I'm also a strange, strange person. What will I do outside The Institution? What will I do inside the institution anyway, with no career path in sight? And yes, that's part of what they do -- they buy/rent high-value human capital at cutthroat prices because we're fucked up fucks who wouldn't survive in a normal work environment.

So I work in an asylum that happens to dictate New Rules for the masters of capitalism? I wonder what that does for my mental health, long-term. Wahh, my therapist refuses to see me more than once a month. Says I don't need more and more would be a crutch. 

 

At least I've got the catbox. At least when they don't stonewall me for talking about suicidal thoughts.

 

But this is the winter down under. And my plant-like rhythms like the winter. I feel better for the glorious span from late february until mid-september. About [200 glorious days. Most of the year, actually, by a small margin. How do I communicate this to others, supposing I can trust my seasonal pattern to be the major component of my fucked up brain-fu swings? (Mood swings? Meh. I have pareidolia swings. Some days I can't really feel that my limbs are part of my body. I have depersonalizaiton swings. (Korn is actually on to something: sometimes I cannot feel my face; sometimes it's my life I can't taste)).

Hello, my name is syntaxfree. I'm an extraordinary economist for 200 days a year, and for 160 days a complete fuck up, and but for the grace of god I don't fall into mendicancy. Please deal with me. I will ruin your business and then turn it around like a miracle, and then fuck it up again.

 

Christchurch (a love song)

The people I've met
Are the wonders of my world

Canterbury, a province in the mid-South Island of New Zealand, is known for being quiet, stately, reserved... some would say boring, but for those of us from there, it's just a fundamentally good place to grow up. Characterised by arable plains with views to snow-capped mountains, forests, and the sea, it's a little piece of perfect.

I've been walking in the same way as I did

Any city in which you say your first words and take your first steps will always mean something to you. I don't know if it's a conscious memory or not, but I have a clear recollection of using my miniature wooden pram (with blue gingham shade cover, no less) to hold myself upright as I tottered around a house by the Avon River. There was cork flooring, I swear, and I only know in hindsight that I had the chubby legs of a baby stumbling beneath my sundress. I don't remember my actual first steps (and I'm sure, effervescent praise soon after), merely the prequel. But I know I took my first steps as a baby in Christchurch, Canterbury, New Zealand - the secondmost populous city in the country, located approximately halfway up the East Coast of the South Island.

Missing out the cracks in the pavement

As a child of the 1990s, it was a matter of course to rollerblade. Even after moving from Christchurch, I still returned frequently, having friends and family there. The wide, tree-lined streets of Christchurch, rollerblades on, racing to and from the mall with friends. We added in the old rule of not standing on a crack - although seeing, and jumping, cracks on rollerblades led to many a skinned knee, we didn't give up. Cantabrians are often stubborn and competitive. A graze was worth the glory.

And tutting my heel, strutting my feet

The first time I ever got "dressed up" was in Christchurch. The first two times. The very first was going to the ballet with my mother, in my new shoes and a dress I hated. The second involved rampant riding up and down the glass elevator at the (then) Park Royal Hotel, testing the patience of the staff. The diners below almost glowed in the candlelight. As did my eyes.

I like it in the city when the air is so thick and opaque

Christchurch is beautiful in winter. The pewter skies, the soft curl of woodsmoke into the air, the riverside trees shivering as much as the students bustling to the university.

I love to see everybody in short skirts, shorts and shades

In summer, we get fish and chips, T-sauce, and L&P, and go to the beach. It's the quintessential kiwi experience. The students flock to the campus pub, sitting arrayed on the terrace-style steps. The lecturers come too, and we debate fiercely, good-naturedly, and someone brings the next round.

I like it in the city when two worlds collide

"I love you," he said. I loved him too, and the city in which he first gave me those words.

Round my hometown, memories are fresh

None of us expected what occurred at 4.35am on 4 September 2010.

A magnitude 7.1 earthquake tore open the earth at a previously-unknown faultline near Darfield, a small township approximately 40km inland (West) of Christchurch. It was about 10km deep, and was felt for about 40 seconds throughout both islands of New Zealand, and caused widespread building damage, liquefaction of heavily populated suburbs, and general chaos of critical infrastructure. A 5.8 aftershock soon followed. Trains stopped. Roads split. Bridges buckled. Water and sewerage flooded the streets. Bleary-eyed Cantabrians clung to each other. Those of us in other parts of the country woke and held onto our beds as our own homes rocked, thinking it was a reasonably notable quake - not realising we were only feeling reverberations.

By the time the sun, and the nation, arose, the daylight laid plain the devastation. In what can only be described as a miracle, there were only two serious injuries, and no deaths attributable to the earthquake. But Christchurch, Rangiora, Kaiapoi, and all the smaller towns and villages were in serious trouble. Even towns such as Timaru (approx 200km away) sustained severely cracked buildings.

Questions that had never confronted Cantabrians previously unaware minds arose: where do you get water you can drink? How do I cook food without power? Where is the gas tap to shut off the pipes? How can I turn off the mains so that my house doesn't burn when the power comes back on? Are my loved ones safe?

As the cellphone networks buckled under the pressure of over 4 million citizens of New Zealand calling and txting each other to confirm their loved ones were safe, the people of Canterbury hit the streets, pulling together with shovels, wheelbarrows and thermoses. The aftershocks ensured nobody in Canterbury slept. For the following months, as homes lay partially in ruins, and core services slowly returned to most areas of the region, it was thought the worst was over. A severe aftershock on Boxing Day 2010 rattled already frayed nerves. But it was ok, it was going to be ok.

Tragically, how wrong we were.

Aftershock ((Ed: subsequently confirmed as a new seismic event)) (approx) number 4,500 laid waste to Christchurch at lunchtime on 22 February 2011. Although 6.3 on the richter scale, at only a few km deep - and centered under the city's port suburb of Lyttelton - the damage was extreme. Buildings and structures that had held up through thousands of previous quakes crumbled. The Cathedral, the soul and symbol of Christchurch, had its spire collapse into dust, people trapped inside ((Ed: by what can only be described as a miracle, this thankfully ended up not being the case)). Office buildings collapsed with workers inside; buildings fell on top of passing busses. Liquefaction, flooding, and devastation everywhere. (Out of respect for the ongoing operation on the ground in Christchurch I will not comment further, as I do not think it appropriate for a journal entry when I am not presently there.)

In another part of New Zealand, my colleagues I stared, transfixed, at the television, choking back horror-induced vomit. My thumb moving without thought against the keypad of my phone. Are my loved ones alright? (Thankfully yes, although I genuinely grieve for those who have not had this same news.) Kia kaha, kia kaha, kia kaha Christchurch...

There is nobody in New Zealand who is not affected by this (hence my use of "we"). We are a small country - just under 4.5 million of us. When a city of just shy of 400,000 is affected, we are all hurting, all begging, all confused, and all numb. And it's not over, it's only beginning. And it hurts.

"Is there anything I can do for you dear? Is there anyone I could call?"

Christchurch will be rebuilt. Cantabrians are noted for their tenacity in the face of adversity. I have no doubt that the cathedral spire will rise once more. But in the meantime, the focus is - and must be - human.

New Zealand's government has currently launched an international appeal for aid. I have written this to try to contextualise what is happening in my country, to my countrymen, in the hope that someone might feel inspired to help out. Any donations are gratefully received.

"I ain't lost, just wandering"

I want to return, even if only to hug those I love and help them put items back on shelves. I want to help. Feeling helpless in the face of a disaster, when you know you now have family and friends without homes, is a situation I would not wish on anyone. Having others around you still waiting to hear, to have terrible news confirmed... it's mind-numbing.

But now is not the time to return. The best help I - and anyone - can give, is financial, according to officials (and emotional support, too). More people in the city right now is (I understand) more pressure on the infrastructure. We have experts on the ground, doing some amazing work in extremely difficult conditions, and we are incredibly thankful for their presence. A special thank you to Australia, the US, the UK, Japan, Taiwan, Singapore and China for their incredible generosity in this difficult time.

Shows that we ain't gonna stand shit
Shows that we are united
Shows that we ain't gonna take it

Stand strong, Christchurch. I love you.

---

Lyrics from "Hometown Glory", Adele.