Ch 8: David's Weirdness

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(David)

I instantly fell asleep, exhausted, as soon as I hit the bed. But like every second or third night in recent times, after about 90 minutes or two hours I wake up and can’t go back to sleep for an hour. Then it happens again about an hour before my alarm is set to go off. It’s like perfect sleep deprivation. Weirdly, it happens on the hour. If I fall asleep at 2300, it happens at 0100; if I fall asleep at 2430, it happens at 0200. And it’s not because of worrying; I am dead tired and fall asleep as soon as I hit the bed. I feel like I’m being physically awakened by something. Increasingly there’s an accompanying tingling sensation and sometimes weird body twitches.

So now I’m lying here in the dark, listening to the occasional distant thump of artillery. The distant sounds of the war are strangely soothing at night. It’s like living next to a train track or close to an airport. You get used to the sound even during sleep. I’ve lived in this apartment for 10 years. It’s not noise that’s waking me up.

So, I know I’m going to be awake for the next hour or so. There’s nothing productive you can do at 0200 in the morning other than lie there and wait to go back to sleep. So I’m thinking about work.

I love my work. I’m pretty good at it and I love it. But lately there’s this feeling of hostility around the office. I don’t know if it’s just because I’m not sleeping or what.

Last week a routine Prophecy analysis I submitted, recommending targets for the Region’s grain production and reserves, was returned to me, without discussion, marked as “internally inconsistent”. An auditor appeared on site the next day to review my work. I asked if there is a problem I could help her with and she politely refused to talk to me. After half a day of review, she pointed out a very small ambiguity in my analysis and wrote a report indicating that it could “potentially skew resource allocation”.

It’s odd to be called out on “ambiguity” when what I am doing is interpreting vague prophecies said to be supernatural in origin. Hey everyone, I’m so sorry that after six years of reliably translating the utterly insane proclamations of mystical clerics, and somehow making it work for the Administration team, the Asset Allocation teams, the military guys, and everyone else, I made an “ambiguous” statement in one line of a 60-page report.

For 20 years, since before I came here, from the time I was teaching at the Academy, my work has been well regarded and I’ve been looked upon as a kind of quiet authority in my field. Now I’m being nitpicked by some junior compliance officer who doesn’t even feel the need to talk to me.

I read the audit, now in my personnel file. “…an instance of inattentiveness leading to potential inaccuracies; recommend further monitoring.”

I know this will not create any special concern with Seth, my manager. Seth is a reasonable guy who I trust. But if you get repeated notes like that in your file, you’re looking at possible remedial actions, possibly relegation to more menial work.

I’ve never had to think about things like that before. I’ve always been a workhorse. Will they think I’m burning out? Maybe I am burning out.

Around the office, other Seniors and now my Junior team are avoiding eye contact and keeping conversation to a minimum. I still get a polite nod or “how are you” in the hallway, but no conversation, no invitations to lunch and whatnot. On top of that, I’m so tired that I can’t tell if I’m just being paranoid. It’s like they all know something that I don’t know. Am I paranoid, or am I being squeezed out or something? Just tell me what the hell is going on.

And this relentless ringing in my ears. And increasingly the twitching and tingling. My heart races sometimes. Something must be wrong with my implants. But the sensations strangely seem to be coming from outside my body, if that makes any sense.

I visited the med clinic earlier this week. They ran a number of scans: bloodwork, neural imaging, hormones, and they detected no abnormalities. But I know what I’m experiencing, and it is not normal.

There’s a part of me that wants to reach out and confide in someone about all this the strangeness. I think of just talking to someone simple and friendly. Like Dorian, our office maintenance man, a BuilderHelper who’s probably about 30. He recently retold stories of the Earth Purge when we were in the break room. I remember being touched by his retelling of the story, just as he’s learned it since childhood. It captured the appropriate emotions so perfectly:

A great catastrophe that was really a trial imposed on mankind by God. The deep sadness and sense of loss, and the stoic resolve and sacrifice of the many heroic men and women who came to be known as the BuilderHelpers, who through immense courage and personal sacrifice, guided by the talent and precision of those now called Infotechs, repaired and rebuilt our society in accordance with the Prophetic Visions of the Holy Supreme Council. I’ll never forget how he ended the story. He said, “So don’t be sad, David, your work is real important and I’m happy working hard over here so you can get that important stuff done.” He tapped his temple as he said “important stuff.”

I imagine blurting out to him, “Help me friend. I can’t sleep. I’m feeling weird sensations, my work is being sabotaged. I feel like I’m being tortured.” But I know there would be no point in this. I‘d just be laying a burden on someone who’s not built to hear these kinds of things from someone like me.

I fear that if I talk to anyone, I’ll be seen as unreliable or unstable. I know it’s partly my imposter syndrome interfering with my ability to ask for help. But it’s also a fact that if I did truly confide in someone, there’d be risk in that. You can’t just go around telling everyone you’re having problems.

It’s funny. Whenever I work on difficult projects, I fantasize about having an easier job, maybe working on closely monitored tasks that leave no room for deeper thought or creativity. Yet that’s the reprisal I fear if I’m determined to be unreliable. It’s getting too fucking complicated being me.

I’ve told myself a hundred times, and I tell myself again: Don’t talk to anyone about this until you figure out what is going on.

I did mention to Dorian my trouble with sleep. Without hesitation he asked me why I am not using my Will of Faith to make a declaration that God will help me to sleep normally. In my senior position, setting Edict-level policy based on interpretation of Prophetic Visions, I have to set an example of religious orthodoxy, especially in front of junior co-workers or innocent BuilderHelpers. And it always has to be assumed that someone is watching. So I stuttered about knowing with certainly that God wants me to be healthy and happy and prosperous, and knowing that God will obey my Will of Faith, since God obeys the believer’s authority. To demonstrate my religious orthodoxy I raised my hands and decreed and declared “God, hear my Will of Faith and make me sleep normally!” Dorian participated by shouting, “And on that we agree!” I finished my declaration by looking upward and wagging my finger at the sky and pretending to “speak in tongues” by saying something like “ahkalmalachastarundaler”, being careful about pronunciation of the “r’s” - the key is to “roll” the “r’s” that are followed by vowels…otherwise the r’s are always non-rhotic…tongue always at the front of the mouth, touching the teeth, like speaking Spanish…the easiest way to sound exotic and foreign.

Dorian watched me as I spoke, genuinely credulous, with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. It’s the facial expression we’re supposed to make when witnessing performative spirituality. Dorian finished with a joyous shout of “Glory to the Prophets Of Old!” and he did a little dance that looked so silly – he looks like a huge professional athlete, like the old style American footballers – I had to conceal a laugh by similarly shouting with joy, “Yes and Amen!” Dorian aggressively hugged me saying “You’re healed brother! Praise the Prophet Wommack, you’re healed!” Dorian’s hug was so strong that he briefly lifted me off my feet and shook me like rag doll while I laughed. He quickly regained control of himself, let go and lightly patted my shoulder as if to make sure he hadn’t broken me. I thanked him emphatically for his helpful prayer. We stood awkwardly looking at each other for a moment, then went back to our work. “Hallelujah!”, I heard him mutter as he walked away.

I’m not sure, but I think almost anyone in the Infotech class must know that this behaviour is complete nonsense. But there is pressure to comply with it for fear of being seen as less spiritual than other people. Any deviation from the religio-political Manifested Gods On Earth orthodoxy might be discreetly reported by others who fear being seen as complicit. The fear is reasonable. When a person’s problems are identified as spiritual in nature, life gets very difficult as former friends and colleagues treat them as a sickly person infested by enemy spirits.

I sit at my desk and stare at a long monologue of Prophetic pronouncements. Why am I, of all people, relied upon to decipher this? With every project like this, there’s that feeling of starting over from scratch. But it’s getting worse because I can’t fucking sleep.

I’m alone in this strange atmosphere of depersonalization and paranoia brought on by the sleep deprivation. Who the hell am I? I am me. Am I me? Is this me? God I hope I didn’t say that out loud. Annoyingly, my left arm twitches as it has been doing lately. I lift my head and find myself looking straight into the eyes of a young analyst who has stopped in front of my office and is looking at me, confused. I furrow my brow briefly and he looks away.

It’s ok. I don’t mind being perceived as a bit strange. Maybe it’s seen as the quirky vibe of someone blessed and cursed with the frustrating combination of high aptitude for boring yet mentally demanding work, and the somewhat disorganized streak of a dreamer.

I recall one occasion after I had given a presentation to this young policy analyst and others, teaching them the rules of Prophetic interpretation and policy formulation. I’ve always enjoyed teaching the subject. Secretly, teaching the material has always been my method of learning it. I like to show the intersection of ancient and modern Prophetic precedents and the links to the evolution of official policy by using animated diagrams rather than reciting the texts. The juniors can read the texts on their own; I try to help them creatively visualize the connections between the supernatural utterances and their relevance to the sometimes mundane material aspects of governance. I recall this analyst asking me after the presentation, “How do you remember all that? How am I supposed to know all that?” I reassured her, truthfully explaining that after about five years of work, she would begin to feel like she somewhat knows what she’s doing. Then, after about ten years, she would be using the rules and precedents in her analysis without having to go back and read them. The work would turn into a creative exercise, and maybe even something a bit mystical. I think I really encouraged her. I always liked encouraging them like that.

Plus, I wished I could say but never did, I’m totally faking it. I actually have no idea what I’m doing. I just do this for fun because frankly, it’s easy and no one knows what the hell I’m talking about anyway.

Then I look up and see Lauren at my door. She knocks once and opens the door and enters, closing the door behind her.

“Hey David, sorry to bother you. Can I ask you to just take a quick look at my outline for the project you gave me? I know it’s simple stuff but I just want to make sure I’m headed in the right direction and honestly I’m kind of getting stuck on this one part so—”

My mouth starts talking and before I can stop it, it says, “Lauren, wait, wait, no. No. I’ve been over it twice with you already. How many times do I need to explain it? I don’t have time to do it again. Go ask Geoff about it, he bangs these reports out like it’s nothing.”

I see Lauren’s face register a state of shock just for a split second. Then she snaps back into cheerful professional mode. “Oh, um ok, yes, you’re right, I’ll just do that. Ok, thanks David.” And she walks out.

As she walks away I mutter “I’m sorry.” But it’s too late. I said what I said. I’ll talk to her later when I get some sleep.

I start daydreaming. I imagine calling a meeting with my team and asking them if they notice anything weird about me, and can someone please explain what is happening.

I realize that my head briefly nodded. I’m micro-sleeping as I pretend to work. I’m feeling a bit sick and I’m shaking. If I don’t sleep tonight, I think this will all be over. I can’t continue like this. To be finished would be a relief. The feeling of hope is a faded memory that I can’t pull back into focus. My situation is out of control. There is no one to help me, no one to talk to. It makes no sense to keep doing this. I have to get out of it.