“Questioning elicited the information that he feels almost as if there is a veil between him and other people through which they cannot reach him, but he prefers this veil to remain intact.”
—
Sometimes he looks around him, horrified by the weight of it all, the career of paper. He sits in the data-spew of hundreds of lives. There’s no end in sight. When he needs something, a report or transcript, anything, any level of difficulty, he simply has to ask. The Curator is quick to respond, firm in his insistence on forwarding precisely the right document in an area of research marked by ambiguity and error, by political bias, systematic fantasy. But not just the right document, not just an obscure footnote from an open source. The Curator sends him material not seen by anyone outside the headquarters complex at Langley, material that includes the results of internal investigations, confidential files from the Agency’s own Office of Security.
—
Knowledge was a danger, ignorance a cherished asset. In many cases the DCI, the Director of Central Intelligence, was not to know important things. The less he knew, the more decisively he could function. It would impair his ability to tell the truth at an inquiry or a hearing, or in an Oval Office chat with the President, if he knew what they were doing in Leader 4, or even what they were talking about, or muttering in their sleep. The Joint Chiefs were not to know. The operational horrors were not for their ears. Details were a form of contamination. The Secretaries were to be insulated from knowing. They were happier not knowing, or knowing too late. The Deputy Secretaries were interested in drifts and tendencies. They expected to be misled. They counted on it. The Attorney General wasn’t to know the queasy details. Just get results. Each level of the committee was designed to protect a higher level. There were complexities of speech. A man needed special experience and insight to work true meanings out of certain murky remarks. There were pauses and blank looks. Brilliant riddles floated up and down the echelons, to be pondered, solved, ignored.
The members of the committee would allow only generalities to carry upward. It was the President, of course, who was the final object of their protective instincts. … The White House was to be the summit of unknowing. It was as if an unsullied leader redeemed some ancient truth which the others were forced to admire only in the abstract, owing to their mission in the convoluted world.
But there were even deeper shadows, strange and grave silences surrounding plans to invade the island. The President knew about this, of course—knew the broad contours, had a sense of the promised outcome. But the system still operated as an insulating muse. Let him see the softer tones. Shield him from responsibility. Secrets build their own networks, Win believed. The system would perpetuate itself in all its curious and obsessive webbings, its equivocations and patient riddles and levels of delusional thought …
—
“The invasion failed because high officials didn’t examine the basic assumptions. They got caught up in a spirit of compelling action. They were eager to accept other men’s perceptions. There was safety in this. The plan was never clear. No one was ever responsible. Some of them knew a disaster was in the works. They let it ride. They put themselves out of reach. They wanted it over and done.”
—
“Some things we wait for all our lives without knowing it. Then it happens and we recognize at once who we are and how we are meant to proceed. This is the idea I’ve always wanted. I believe you’ll sense it is right. It’s the high risk we need. We need an electrifying event. You’ve been waiting for this every bit as much as I have. I believe that or I wouldn’t have asked you to come here. We want to set up an attempt on the life of the President. We plan every step, design every incident leading up to the event. We put together a team, leave a dim trail. The evidence is ambiguous. But it points to the Cuban Intelligence Directorate. Inherent in the plan is a second set of clues, even more unclear, more intriguing. These point to the Agency’s attempts to assassinate Castro. I am designing a plan that includes elements of both the American provocation and the Cuban reply. We do the whole thing with paper. Passports, drivers’ licenses, address books. Our team of shooters disappears but the police find a trail. Mail-order forms, change-of-address cards, photographs. We script a person or persons out of ordinary pocket litter. Shots ring out, the country is shocked, aroused. The paper trail leads to paid agents who have disappeared in Venezuela, in Mexico. I am convinced this is what we have to do to get Cuba back. This plan has levels and variations I’ve only begun to explore but it is already, essentially, right. I feel its rightness. I know what scientists mean when they talk about elegant solutions. This plan speaks to something deep inside me. It has a powerful logic. I’ve felt it unfolding for weeks, like a dream whose meaning slowly becomes apparent. This is the condition we’ve always wanted to reach. It’s the life-insight, the life-secret, and we have to extend it, guard it carefully, right up to the time we have shooters stationed on a rooftop or railroad bridge.”
—
Historic names, pen names, names of war, party names, revolutionary names. These were men who lived in isolation for long periods, lived close to death through long winters in exile or prison, feeling history in the room, waiting for the moment when it would surge through the walls, taking them with it. History was a force to these men, a presence in the room. They felt it and waited.
The books were struggles. He had to fight to make some elementary sense of what he read. But the books had come out of struggle. They had been struggles to write, struggles to live. It seemed fitting to Lee that the texts were often masses of dense theory, unyielding. The tougher the books, the more firmly he fixed a distance between himself and others.
He found enough that he could understand. He could see the capitalists, he could see the masses. They were right here, all around him, every day.
—
Pocket litter. Win Everett was at work devising a general shape, a life. He would script a gunman out of ordinary dog-eared paper, the contents of a wallet. … They wanted a name, a face, a bodily frame they might use to extend their fiction into the world. Everett had decided he wanted one figure to be slightly more visible than the others, a man the investigation might center on, someone who would be trailed and possibly apprehended. Three or four shooters would vanish completely, leaving scant traces of their affiliation. … Then one other figure, one slightly clearer image, perhaps abandoned in his sniper’s perch to find his own way out, to be trailed, found, possibly killed by the Secret Service, FBI or local police. Whatever protocol demands. This kind of man, a marksman, near anonymous, with minimal known history, the kind of man who surfaces in murky places, disappears, is arrested for some violent act, is released to drift again, to surface, to disappear. Mackey would find this man for Everett. They needed fingerprints, a handwriting sample, a photograph. Mackey would find the other shooters as well. We don’t hit the President. We miss him. We want a spectacular miss.
—
It was all so curiously funny. It was rich, that’s what it was. Everyone was a spook or dupe or asset, a double, courier, cutout or defector, or was related to one. We were all linked in a vast and rhythmic coincidence, a daisy chain of rumor, suspicion and secret wish.
—
Somewhere in his room of theories, in some notebook or folder, Nicholas Branch has a roster of the dead. A printout of the names of witnesses, informers, investigators, people linked to Lee H. Oswald, people linked to Jack Ruby, all conveniently and suggestively dead. In 1979 a House select committee determined there was nothing statistically abnormal about the death rate among those who were connected in some way to the events of November 22. Branch accepts this as an actuarial fact. He is writing a history, not a study of the ways in which people succumb to paranoia. There is endless suggestiveness. Branch concedes this. There is the language of the manner of death. Shot in back of head. Died of cut throat. Shot in police station. Shot in motel. Shot by husband after one month marriage. Found hanging by toreador pants in jail cell. Killed by karate chop. It is the neon epic of Saturday night. And Branch wants to believe that’s all it is. There is enough mystery in the facts as we know them, enough of conspiracy, coincidence, loose ends, dead ends, multiple interpretations. There is no need, he thinks, to invent the grand and masterful scheme, the plot that reaches flawlessly in a dozen directions.
Still, the cases do resonate, don’t they? Mostly anonymous dead. Exotic dancers, taxi drivers, cigarette girls, lawyers of the shopworn sort with dandruff on their lapels. But through the years the violence has reached others as well, and with each new series of misadventures Branch sees again how the assassination sheds a powerful and lasting light, exposing patterns and links, revealing this man to have known that one, this death to have occurred in curious juxtaposition to that.
—
“U-2 planes. The planes that spotted the missiles the Soviets were putting into Cuba. We used to call the photos pornography. The photo interpreters would gather to interpret. ‘Let’s see what kind of pornography we pulled in today.’ Kennedy looked at the pictures in his bedroom as a matter of fact. … Spy planes, drone aircraft, satellites with cameras that can see from three hundred miles what you can see from a hundred feet. They see and they hear. Like ancient monks, you know, who recorded knowledge, wrote it painstakingly down. These systems collect and process. All the secret knowledge of the world. … I’ll tell you what it means, these orbiting sensors that can hear us in our beds. It means the end of loyalty. The more complex the systems, the less conviction in people. Conviction will be drained out of us. Devices will drain us, make us vague and pliant.”
—
He would put someone together, build an identity, a skein of persuasion and habit, ever so subtle. He wanted a man with believable quirks. He would create a shadowed room, the gunman’s room, which investigators would eventually find, exposing each fact to relentless scrutiny, following each friend, relative, casual acquaintance into his own roomful of shadows. We lead more interesting lives than we think. We are characters in plots, without the compression and numinous sheen. Our lives, examined carefully in all their affinities and links, abound with suggestive meaning, with themes and involute turnings we have not allowed ourselves to see completely. He would show the secret symmetries in a nondescript life.
An address book with ambiguous leads. Photographs expertly altered (or crudely altered). Letters, travel documents, counterfeit signatures, a history of false names. It would all require a massive decipherment, a conversion to plain text. He envisioned teams of linguists, photo analysts, fingerprint experts, handwriting experts, experts in hairs and fibers, smudges and blurs. Investigators building up chronologies. He would give them the makings of deep chronos, lead them to basement rooms in windy industrial slums, to lost towns in the Tropics.
—
Life is hostile, he believed. The struggle is to merge your life with the greater tide of history.
—
Maybe what has to happen is that the individual must allow himself to be swept along, must find himself in the stream of no-choice, the single direction. This is what makes things inevitable. You use the restrictions and penalties they invent to make yourself stronger. History means to merge. The purpose of history is to climb out of your own skin. He knew what Trotsky had written, that revolution leads us out of the dark night of the isolated self. We live forever in history, outside ego and id.
—
Two weeks later he followed directions to a house in the Sanya district of Tokyo. He made his way through a ragpickers’ village built with material scavenged from other parts of the city. Old women jogged through the alleys carrying empty bottles, broken chair legs, pieces of indefinable junk. Houses were shoulder-high, made of old packing crates and strips of sheet metal, the walls stuffed with cardboard and rags. There were lines of people selling blood at mobile units, people who seemed hollow-bodied, so small, in such collapse. It would never bottom out. No matter how far down you went into the world, there were distances still to go, worse things to see and experience. He made it a point not to hurry through the area. He wanted to see what was here.
—
It produced a sensation of the eeriest panic, gave him a glimpse of the fiction he’d been devising, a fiction living prematurely in the world.
—
Nicholas Branch has unpublished state documents, polygraph reports, Dictabelt recordings from the police radio net on November 22. He has photo enhancements, floor plans, home movies, biographies, bibliographies, letters, rumors, mirages, dreams. This is the room of dreams, the room where it has taken him all these years to learn that his subject is not politics or violent crime but men in small rooms.
Is he one of them now? Frustrated, stuck, self-watching, looking for a means of connection, a way to break out. After Oswald, men in America are no longer required to lead lives of quiet desperation. You apply for a credit card, buy a handgun, travel through cities, suburbs and shopping malls, anonymous, anonymous, looking for a chance to take a shot at the first puffy empty famous face, just to let people know there is someone out there who reads the papers.
Branch is stuck all right. He has abandoned his life to understanding that moment in Dallas, the seven seconds that broke the back of the American century. He has his forensic pathology rundown, his neutron activation analysis. There is also the Warren Report, of course, with its twenty-six accompanying volumes of testimony and exhibits, its millions of words. Branch thinks this is the megaton novel James Joyce would have written if he’d moved to Iowa City and lived to be a hundred.
Everything is here. Baptismal records, report cards, postcards, divorce petitions, canceled checks, daily timesheets, tax returns, property lists, postoperative x-rays, photos of knotted string, thousands of pages of testimony, of voices droning in hearing rooms in old courthouse buildings, an incredible haul of human utterance. It lies so flat on the page, hangs so still in the lazy air, lost to syntax and other arrangement, that it resembles a kind of mind-spatter, a poetry of lives muddied and dripping in language.
Branch doesn’t know how to approach this kind of data. … It is vital to his sense of responsible obsession that everything in his room warrants careful study. Everything belongs, everything adheres, the mutter of obscure witnesses, the photos of illegible documents and odd sad personal debris, things gathered up at a dying—old shoes, pajama tops, letters from Russia. It is all one thing, a ruined city of trivia where people feel real pain. This is the Joycean Book of America, remember—the novel in which nothing is left out.
Branch has long since forgiven the Warren Report for its failures. It is too valuable a document of human heartbreak and muddle to be scorned or dismissed. The twenty-six volumes haunt him. Men and women surface in FBI memos, are tracked for several pages, then disappear—waitresses, prostitutes, mind readers, motel managers, owners of rifle ranges. Their stories hang in time, spare, perfect in their way, unfinished.
Photographs. Many are overexposed, light-blasted, with a faded quality beyond their age, suggesting things barely glimpsed despite the simple nature of the objects and the spare captions. ... But Branch feels there is a loneliness, a strange desolation trapped here. Why do these photographs have a power to disturb him, make him sad? Flat, pale, washed in time, suspended outside the particularized gist of this or that era, arguing nothing, clarifying nothing, lonely. Can a photograph be lonely?
This sadness has him fixed to his chair, staring. He feels the souls of empty places, finds himself returning again and again to the pictures of the second-floor lunchroom in the Texas School Book Depository. Rooms, garages, streets were emptied out for the making of official pictures. Empty forever now, stuck in some picture limbo. He feels the souls of those who were there and left. He feels sadness in objects, in warehouse cartons and blood-soaked clothes. He breathes in loneliness. He feels the dead in his room.
—
It was his goodbye to Russia. It signified the official end of a major era in his life. It validated the experience, as the writing of any history brings a persuasion and form to events.
Even as he printed the words, he imagined people reading them, people moved by his loneliness and disappointment, even by his wretched spelling, the childish mess of composition. Let them see the struggle and humiliation, the effort he had to exert to write a simple sentence. The pages were crowded, smudged, urgent, a true picture of his state of mind, of his rage and frustration, knowing a thing but not able to record it properly.
Always the pain, the chaos of composition. He could not find order in the field of little symbols. They were in the hazy distance. He could not clearly see the picture that is called a word. A word is also a picture of a word. He saw spaces, incomplete features, and tried to guess at the rest.
He made wild tries at phonetic spelling. But the language tricked him with its inconsistencies. He watched sentences deteriorate, powerless to make them right. The nature of things was to be elusive. Things slipped through his perceptions. He could not get a grip on the runaway world.
Limits everywhere. In every direction he came up against his own incompleteness. Cramped, fumbling, deficient. He knew things. It wasn’t that he didn’t know.
Even in the rush of filling these pages, he was careful to leave out certain things that could be used in legal argument against his return to the U.S. Yes, the diary was self-serving to a degree but still the basic truth, he believed. The panic was real, the voice of disappointment and loss.
He knew there were discrepancies, messed-up dates. No one could expect him to get the dates right after all this time, no one cared about the dates, no one is reading this for names and dates and spellings.
Let them see the struggle.
He believed religiously that his life would turn in such a way that people would one day study the Historic Diary for clues to the heart and mind of the man who wrote it.
—
Plots carry their own logic. There is a tendency of plots to move toward death. He believed that the idea of death is woven into the nature of every plot. A narrative plot no less than a conspiracy of armed men. The tighter the plot of a story, the more likely it will come to death. A plot in fiction, he believed, is the way we localize the force of the death outside the book, play it off, contain it. The ancients staged mock battles to parallel the tempests in nature and reduce their fear of gods who warred across the sky. He worried about the deathward logic of his plot. He’d already made it clear that he wanted the shooters to hit a Secret Service man, wound him superficially. But it wasn’t a misdirected round, an accidental killing, that made him afraid. There was something more insidious. He had a foreboding that the plot would move to a limit, develop a logical end.
—
He thought the only end to isolation was to reach the point where he was no longer separated from the true struggles that went on around him. The name we give this point is history.
—
“It’s the job of an intelligence service to resolve a nation’s obsessions. Cuba is a fixed idea. It is prickly in a way Russia is not. More unresolved. More damaging to the psyche. And this is our job, to remove the psychic threat, to learn so much about Castro, decipher his intentions, undermine his institutions to such a degree that he loses the power to shape the way we think, to shape the way we sleep at night.”
—
It was remarkable how often he talked to her about these things. The Agency was the one subject in his life that could never be exhausted. Central Intelligence. Beryl saw it as the best organized church in the Christian world, a mission to collect and store everything that everyone has ever said and then reduce it to a microdot and call it God. She needed to live in small dusty rooms, layered safely in, out of the reach of dizzying things, of heat and light and strange spaces, and Larry needed the great sheltering nave of the Agency. He believed that nothing can be finally known that involves human motive and need. There is always another level, another secret, a way in which the heart breeds a deception so mysterious and complex it can only be taken for a deeper kind of truth.
—
He’d stopped commenting on this oddness of hers. She said the news clippings she sent to friends were a perfectly reasonable way to correspond. There were a thousand things to clip and they all said something about the way she felt. He watched her read and cut. She wore half-glasses and worked the scissors grimly. She believed these were personal forms of expression. She believed no message she could send a friend was more intimate and telling than a story in the paper … Because these are the things that tell us how we live.
—
In the Old Senate Caucus Room they asked him to name the members of the Real Control Apparatus. This is like naming particles in the air, naming molecules or cells. The Apparatus is precisely what we can’t see or name. We can’t measure it, gentlemen, or take its photograph. It is the mystery we can’t get hold of, the plot we can’t uncover. This doesn’t mean there are no plotters. They are elected officials of our government, Cabinet members, philanthropists, men who know each other by secret signs, who work in the shadows to control our lives.
—
On his fourth day with Castro he shot a government scout, aiming through a telescopic sight. It was uncanny. You press a button and a man drops dead a hundred meters away. It seemed hollow and remote, falsifying everything. It was a trick of the lenses. The man is an accurate picture. Then he is upside down. Then he is right side up. You shoot at a series of images conveyed to you through a metal tube. The force of a death should be enormous but how can you know what kind of man you’ve killed or who was the braver and stronger if you have to peer through layers of glass that deliver the image but obscure the meaning of the act? War has a conscience or it’s ordinary murder.
—
The Curator sends the results of ballistics tests carried out on human skulls and goat carcasses, on blocks of gelatin mixed with horsemeat. There are photographs of skulls with the right cranial portion blown away. There are bullet-shattered goat heads in close-up. Branch studies a picture of a gelatin-tissue model “dressed” like the President. It is pure modernist sculpture, a block of gelatin layered in suit and shirt material with a strip of undershirt showing, bullet-smoked. There are documents concerning exit velocities. There is a picture of a human skull filled with gelatin and covered with goatskin to simulate a scalp.
—
He sends an actual warped bullet that has been fired for test purposes through the wrist of a seated cadaver. We are on another level here, Branch thinks. Beyond documents now. They want me to touch and smell.
—
The Oswald shadings, the multiple images, the split perceptions—eye color, weapons caliber—these seem a foreboding of what is to come. The endless fact-rubble of the investigations. How many shots, how many gunmen, how many directions? Powerful events breed their own network of inconsistencies. The simple facts elude authentication. How many wounds on the President’s body? What is the size and shape of the wounds? … [Branch] concedes everything. He questions everything, including the basic suppositions we make about our world of light and shadow, solid objects and ordinary sounds, and our ability to measure such things, to determine weight, mass and direction, to see things as they are, recall them clearly, be able to say what happened.
He takes refuge in his notes. The notes are becoming an end in themselves. Branch has decided it is premature to make a serious effort to turn these notes into coherent history. Maybe it will always be premature. Because the data keeps coming. Because new lives enter the record all the time. The past is changing as he writes.
—
“Signs that you exist. Evidence that Lee Oswald matches the cardboard cutout they’ve been shaping all along. You’re a quirk of history. You’re a coincidence. They devise a plan, you fit it perfectly. They lose you, here you are. There’s a pattern in things. Something in us has an effect on independent events. We make things happen. The conscious mind gives one side only. We’re deeper than that. We extend into time. Some of us can almost predict the time and place and nature of our own death. We know it on some deeper plane.”
—
“Think of two parallel lines,” he said. “One is the life of Lee H. Oswald. One is the conspiracy to kill the President. What bridges the space between them? What makes a connection inevitable? There is a third line. It comes out of dreams, visions, intuitions, prayers, out of the deepest levels of the self. It’s not generated by cause and effect like the other two lines. It’s a line that cuts across causality, cuts across time. It has no history that we can recognize or understand. But it forces a connection. It puts a man on the path of his destiny.”
—
The Agency forgives. There wasn’t a man in the upper ranks of the four directorates who didn’t understand the perils of clandestine work. They would be pleased by his willingness to cooperate. What’s more, they would admire the complexity of his plan, incomplete as it was. It had art and memory. It had a sense of responsibility, of moral force. And it was a picture in the world of their own guilty wishes. He was never more surely an Agency man than in the first breathless days of dreaming up this plot.
—
To Nicholas Branch, more frequently of late, “Lee H. Oswald” seems a technical diagram, part of some exercise in the secret manipulation of history.
—
Street by street the crowd began to understand why it was here. The message jumped the open space from one press of bodies to the next. A contagion had brought them here, some mystery of common impulse, hundreds of thousands come from so many histories and systems of being, come from some experience of the night before, a convergence of dreams, to stand together shouting as the Lincoln passed. … They were here to surround the brittle body of one man and claim his smile, receive some token of the bounty of his soul.
—
The media crowds collected and rocked in the corridors. They were waiting for the prisoner to come down to the interrogation room here on the third floor of the Police and Courts Building. TV cameras sat on dollies and there were cables slung over windowsills, trailing through the offices of deputy chiefs. Nobody checked credentials. Reporters took over the phones and pushed into toilets after police officials. Total unknowns walked the halls, defendants from other parts of the building, witnesses to other crimes, tourists, muttering men, drunks in torn shirts. It was a roughhouse, a confoundment. Every rumor flew. Disk jockeys arrived to fill in, blinking, flinching, wary. A reporter wrote notes on a pad he balanced on the back of the chief of police.
Hours going by. Blank faces arrayed against corridor walls. Men crouched near the elevators waiting. They sensed the incompleteness out there, gaps, spaces, vacant seats, lobbies emptied out, disconnections, dark cities, stopped lives. People were lonely for news. Only news could make them whole again, restore sensation. Three hundred reporters in a compact space, all pushing to extract a word. A word is a magic wish. A word from anyone. With a word they could begin to grid the world, make an instant surface that people can see and touch together.
—
Whenever they took him down, he heard his name on the radios and TVs. Lee Harvey Oswald. It sounded extremely strange. He didn’t recognize himself in the full intonation of the name. The only time he used his middle name was to write it on a form that had a space for that purpose. No one called him by that name. Now it was everywhere. He heard it coming from the walls. Reporters called it out. Lee Harvey Oswald, Lee Harvey Oswald. It sounded odd and dumb and made up. They were talking about somebody else.
—
They took him back to the cell. He stripped to his underwear and sat on the bunk, thinking, feeling the noise of the assembly room still resonating in his body. A cell is the basic state, the crude truth of the world.
He could play it either way, depending on what they could prove or couldn’t prove. He wasn’t on the sixth floor at all. He was in the lunchroom eating lunch. The victim of a total frame. They’d been rigging the thing for years, watching him, using him, creating a chain of evidence with the innocent facts of his life. Or he could say he was only partly guilty, set up to take the blame for the real conspirators. Okay, he fired some shots from the window. But he didn’t kill anyone. He never meant to fire a fatal shot. It was never his intention to cause an actual fatality. He was only trying to make a political point. Other people were responsible for the actual killing. They fixed it so he would seem the lone gunman. They superimposed his head on someone else’s body. Forged his name on documents. Made him a dupe of history. He would name every name if he had to.
—
Lee Harvey Oswald was awake in his cell. It was beginning to occur to him that he’d found his life’s work. After the crime comes the reconstruction. He will have motives to analyze, the whole rich question of truth and guilt. Time to reflect, time to turn this thing in his mind. Here is a crime that clearly yields material for deep interpretation. He will be able to bend the light of that heightened moment, shadows fixed on the lawn, the limousine shimmering and still. Time to grow in self-knowledge, to explore the meaning of what he’s done. He will vary the act a hundred ways, speed it up and slow it down, shift emphasis, find shadings, see his whole life change.
This was the true beginning.
They will, give him writing paper and books. He will fill his cell with books about the case. He will have time to educate himself in criminal law, ballistics, acoustics, photography. Whatever pertains to the case he will examine and consume. People will come to see him, the lawyers first, then psychologists, historians, biographers. His life had a single clear subject now, called Lee Harvey Oswald.
He and Kennedy were partners. The figure of the gunman in the window was inextricable from the victim and his history. This sustained Oswald in his cell. It gave him what he needed to live.
—
If we are on the outside, we assume a conspiracy is the perfect working of a scheme. Silent nameless men with unadorned hearts. A conspiracy is everything that ordinary life is not. It’s the inside game, cold, sure, undistracted, forever closed off to us. We are the flawed ones, the innocents, trying to make some rough sense of the daily jostle. Conspirators have a logic and a daring beyond our reach. All conspiracies are the same taut story of men who find coherence in some criminal act.
But maybe not. Nicholas Branch thinks he knows better. He has learned enough about the days and months preceding November 22, and enough about the twenty-second itself, to reach a determination that the conspiracy against the President was a rambling affair that succeeded in the short term due mainly to chance. Deft men and fools, ambivalence and fixed will and what the weather was like.
The stuff keeps coming. The Curator sends FBI surveillance logs. He sends a thirty-five-hour film chronology of unedited network footage shot during the weekend of November 22. He sends a computer-enhanced version of the Zapruder film, the 8mm home movie made by a dress manufacturer who stood on a concrete abutment above Elm Street as the shots were fired. Experts have scrutinized every murky nuance of the Zapruder film. It is the basic timing device of the assassination and a major emblem of uncertainty and chaos. There is the powerful moment of death, the surrounding blurs, patches and shadows.
(Branch’s analysis of the film and other evidence leads him to believe the first shot came much sooner than most theories would allow, probably at Zapruder frame 186. Governor Connally was hit two point six seconds later, at Zapruder 234. The shot that killed the President, crushingly, came four point three seconds after that. Even though he has reached firm conclusions in this area, Branch will study the computerized version of Zapruder. He is in too deep to stop now.)
The Curator sends a special FBI report that includes detailed descriptions of the dreams of eyewitnesses following the assassination of Kennedy and the murder of Oswald.
There are worrisome omissions, occasional gaps in the record. Of course Branch understands that the Agency is a closed system. He knows they will not reveal what they’ve learned to other agencies, much less the public. This is why the history he has contracted to write is a secret one, meant for CIA’s own closed collection. But why are they withholding material from him as well? There’s something they aren’t telling him. The Curator delays, lately, in filling certain requests for information, seems to ignore other requests completely. What are they holding back? How much more is there? Branch wonders if there is some limit inherent in the yielding of information gathered in secret. They can’t give it all away, even to one of their own, someone pledged to confidentiality. Before his retirement, Branch analyzed intelligence, sought patterns in random scads of data. He believed secrets were childish things. He was not generally impressed by the accomplishments of men in the clandestine service, the spy handlers, the covert-action staff. He thought they’d built a vast theology, a formal coded body of knowledge that was basically play material, secret-keeping, one of the keener pleasures and conflicts of childhood. Now he wonders if the Agency is protecting something very much like its identity—protecting its own truth, its theology of secrets.
The Curator begins to send fiction, twenty-five years of novels and plays about the assassination. He sends feature films and documentaries. He sends transcripts of panel discussions and radio debates. Branch has no choice but to study this material. There are important things he has yet to learn. There are lives he must examine. It is essential to master the data.
—
He believes people are distorting his words even as he speaks them. There is a process that takes place between the saying of a word and when they pretend to hear it correctly but actually change it to mean what they want.
—
He is miscast, or cast as someone else, as Oswald. They are part of the same crime now. They are in it together and forever and together.
—
The camera doesn’t catch all of it. There seem to be missing frames, lost levels of information. Brief and simple as the shooting is, it is too much to take in, too mingled in jumped-up energies.
—
There was something in Oswald’s face, a glance at the camera before he was shot, that put him here in the audience, among the rest of us, sleepless in our homes—a glance, a way of telling us that he knows who we are and how we feel, that he has brought our perceptions and interpretations into his sense of the crime. Something in the look, some sly intelligence, exceedingly brief but far-reaching, a connection all but bleached away by glare, tells us that he is outside the moment, watching with the rest of us.

I got bored and with finishing up GTO recently, I went ahead and counted how many pages it has.

I divided the number of pages based on each major arc. Chapter Covers will be counted on their own unless they directly contribute to the story (Dialogue, taking place within the setting, not striking a pose in an unrelated background, etc.). Double Page Spreads will also be counted on their own; if taken into consideration as part of the page count, it'd be additional two pages to the current page count. The appearance of Double Page Spreads will also be listed. Both Chapter Covers and Double Page Spreads will contribute to the overall page count.
I refer to Double Page Spread Chapter Covers in an acronym consisting of those words' initials: DPSCC.
Drawings for Volume Covers and Sketches won't be contributing to the page count but will still be counted on its own.
Diagrams, Info Bios, and Character Profiles which will be counted towards the Page Count and also be counted on its own. Diagrams will be counted if the diagram remains the main focus of the page.

GTO: Great Teacher Onizuka: 200 Chapters, 8 Bonus Chapters, 3,922 Single Pages, 329 Double Page Spreads (328), 7 Chapter Covers, 13 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 20 Info Bios (8), 25 Diagrams (4), 1 Double Page Spread Diagram (0), 22 Character Profiles (3), 1 End Cover, 3 Colored Pages, 2 Colored Double Page Spreads, 3 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Covers:

Total Page Count: 4,627 Pages

Sketches/Volume: 1 Doodle, 10 Volume Sketches, 33 Panel Sketches, 20 Volume Drawings, 5 Volume Skits, 5 Info Bios (Volume), 5 Character Profiles (Volume), 4 Volume Recaps, 1 Double Page Spread Volume Recap, 7 Miscellaneous Pages, 29 Volume Pages

Averages Per Chapter:
Total Pages: 22.2451923077
Single Pages: 18.8557692308
Double Page Spreads: 1.58173076923 or 1.57692307692
Averages Per Chapter (Excluding Bonus Chapters):
Total Pages: 22.145
Single Pages: 18.775
Double Page Spreads: 1.59 or 1.585

The Legend Begins: 2 Arcs, 11 Chapters, 301 Total Pages, 259 Single Pages, 20 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 3 Character Profiles (0), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Sketch:
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Enter Eikichi Onizuka: 6 Chapters, 201 Total Pages, 171 Single Pages, 14 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 2 Character Profiles (0), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Sketch:

Ch 1: 51 Pages + 7 Double Page Spreads (2, 22, 28, 30, 48, 60, 66) + 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 1 Colored DPSCC, 1 Character Bio (2 - 3), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Sketch (6)	Ch 2: 34 Pages + 4 DPS (2, 4, 10, 22), 1 Character Bio (4)	Ch 3: 26 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 16, 24)
Ch 4: 20 Pages	Ch 5: 20 Pages	Ch 6: 20 Pages, 1 Volume Drawing

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The Teacher's Certification Exam: 5 Chapters, 100 Total Pages, 88 Single Pages, 6 Double Page Spreads, 1 Character Profile (0):

Ch 7: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 12)	Ch 8: 20 Pages	Ch 9: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (8), 1 Character Bio (1)
Ch 10: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (12)	Ch 11: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 12)

Welcome To Holy Forest Academy: 2 - 4 Arcs, 6 Chapters, 120 Total Pages, 107 Single Pages, 6 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover; 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume), 3 Character Profiles (0):
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Onizuka-Sensei is Born!: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 53 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover:

Ch 12: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spread (2, 10)	Ch 13: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 14: 19 Pages + 1 Chapter Cover

Introduction to Class 3-4: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 54 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads; 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume), 3 Character Profiles (0):

Ch 15: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 16), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume)	Ch 16: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (18), 3 Character Bios (11, 13)	Ch 17: 20 Pages

Kunio Murai & Noboru Yoshikawa: 4 Arcs, 10 Chapters, 205 Total Pages, 192 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover, 2 Diagrams; 1 Character Profile (Volume), 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Panel Sketch:
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Onizuka vs Murai: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 57 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Diagram:

Ch 18: 19 Pages + 1 Diagram (1)	Ch 19: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 20: 20 Pages

An Eye for an Eye, A Butt for a Butt: 2 Chapters, 45 Total Pages, 43 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 21: 25 Pages, 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 22: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (6)

Onizuka vs the PTA: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 37 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Diagram; 1 Character Profile (Volume), 2 Volume Drawings:

Ch 23: 19 Pages + 1 Diagram/Ch Cover, 1 Volume Drawing	Ch 24: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Character Bio (Volume)

Murai's Lesson: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 55 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover:

Ch 25: 20 Pages	Ch 26: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 27: 17 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (9) + 1 Ch Cover

Tomoko Nomura & Hiroshi Uchiyamada: 4 Arcs, 11 Chapters, 222 Total Pages, 202 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads, 2 Chapter Covers, 4 Info Bios, 1 Character Profile (0); 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume):
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The Art of War: 4 Chapters, 80 Total Pages, 71 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover, 2 Info Bios, 1 Character Profile (0):

Ch 28: 16 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2) + 2 Info Bios (4, 5)	Ch 29: 19 Pages + 1 Ch Cover, 1 Character Bio (3)
Ch 30: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 31: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (8)

Inside Looking Out: 2 Chapters, 40 Total/Single Pages; 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume):

Ch 32: 20 Pages	Ch 33: 20 Pages, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume)

Talent For the Whole World: 3 Chapters, 62 Total Pages, 53 Single Pages, 4 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover:

Ch 34: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 14)	Ch 35: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spread (2, 20)	Ch 36: 19 Pages + 1 Ch Cover

The Spring of Hiroshi Uchiyamada: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 38 Single Pages, 2 Info Bios:

Ch 37: 20 Pages	Ch 38: 18 Pages + 2 Info Bios (6 - 7)

The National Test: 3 - 4 Arcs, 14 Chapters, 290 Total Pages, 257 Single Pages, 16 Double Page Spreads, 4 Character Profiles (1), 1 Info Bio (0), 2 Diagrams (0); 1 Character Profile (Volume), 1 Volume Skit, 1 Panel Sketch:
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Teshigawara's Secret Love: 5 Chapters, 100 Total Pages, 89 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 3 Character Profiles (1); 1 Character Profile (Volume):

Ch 39: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 2 Character Bios (15)	Ch 40: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (12)	Ch 41: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (10)
Ch 42: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (12), 1 Character Bio (Volume)	Ch 43: 17 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (8) + 1 Character Bio (1)

Onizuka vs The National Scholastic Achievement Test: 4 Chapters, 82 Total Pages, 80 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 2 Diagrams (0):

Ch 44: 20 Pages, 2 Diagrams (8, 14)	Ch 45: 20 Pages
Ch 46: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 47: 22 Pages

Edging the Corner: 5 Chapters, 108 Total Pages, 88 Single Pages, 10 Double Page Spreads, 1 Character Profile (0), 1 Info Bio (0); 1 Volume Skit, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 48: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18)	Ch 49: 15 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 14, 18), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 50: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)
Ch 51: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18), 1 Info Bio (5), 1 Volume Skit	Ch 52: 20 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18), 1 Character Bio (2)

Urumi Kanzaki: 4 - 8 Arcs, 14 Chapters, 282 Total Pages, 245 Single Pages, 18 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover, 2 Character Profiles (0); 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Profile (Volume):
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Enter Urumi Kanzaki: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 58 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 2 Character Profiles (0):

Ch 53: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 1 Character Bio (7)	Ch 54: 20 Pages, 1 Character Bio (19)	Ch 55: 20 Pages

Onizuka vs Kanzaki + Office Saejima Part 1: 5 Chapters, 100 Total Pages, 84 Single Pages, 8 Double Page Spreads; 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Profile (Volume):

Ch 56: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (10)	Ch 57: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18)	Ch 58: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 8, 18)
Ch 59: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 16)	Ch 60: 20 Pages, 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Bio (Volume) E

Her Secret: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 55 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover:

Ch 61: 20 Pages	Ch 62: 20 Pages	Ch 63: Ch 62: 15 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 18) + 1 Ch Cover

The Extracurricular: 3 Chapters, 62 Total Pages, 48 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads:

Ch 64: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 10, 14)	Ch 65: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18)	Ch 66: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18)

Slices Of Life: 3 - 5 Arcs, 8 Chapters, 166 Total Pages, 152 Single Pages, 6 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover, 2 Character Profiles (1), 1 Volume Skit, 1 Info Bio (Volume):
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The Witch Club: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 54 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 1 Character Profile (0); 1 Volume Skit, 1 Info Bio (Volume):

Ch 67: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Character Bio (15)	Ch 68: 20 Pages	Ch 69: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 10), 1 Volume Skit, 1 Info Bio (Volume)

Hooky: 2 Chapters, 42 Total Pages, 37 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Character Profile:

Ch 70: 20 Pages	Ch 71: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 18) + 1 Character Bio (1)

Kunio Murai's Adventures: 3 Chapters, 64 Total Pages, 61 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Chapter Cover:

Ch 72: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 73: 19 Pages + 1 Ch Cover	Ch 74: 20 Pages

Miyabi's Scheme: 5 - 7 Arcs, 20 Chapters, 414 Total Pages, 355 Single Pages, 29 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram, 1 Character Profile (0); 3 Panel Sketches, 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Volume Skit, 1 Info Bio (Volume):
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The Lightness of Being: 2 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 58 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Character Profile (0):

Ch 75: 20 Pages, 1 Character Bio (2)	Ch 76: 20 Pages	Ch 77: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)

School Embezzlement: 5 Chapters, 105 Total Pages, 85 Single Pages, 10 Double Page Spreads; 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume):

Ch 78: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 6), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Info Bio (Volume)	Ch 79: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)	Ch 80: 17 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (5, 7, 17)
Ch 81: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 82: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 14, 16)

8 Millon Yen Hunt: 5 Chapters, 103 Total Pages, 86 Single Pages, 8 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram, 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 83: 15 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (8, 18) + 1 Diagram (1)	Ch 84: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (16, 20)	Ch 85: 22 Pages
Ch 86: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 10)	Ch 87: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 10), 1 Volume Drawing

The Mercedes Bendz: 5 Chapters, 106 Total Pages, 92 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 88: 17 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (11)	Ch 89: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread	Ch 90: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 16), 1 Panel Sketch
Ch 91: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 18)	Ch 92: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)

Metamorphosis: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 34 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads; 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Skit:

Ch 93: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 18), 1 Volume Skit	Ch 94: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Panel Sketch

Tomoko's Big Adventures (Bonus Arc): 7 Bonus Chapters, 153 Total Pages, 130 Single Pages, 10 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 6 Character Profiles (1), 2 Info Bios (0), 2 Panel Sketches:

Ch 92.1: 22 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads + (2, 26) + 1 DPSCC, 4 Character Bios (2, 6, 10, 18)	Ch 92.2: 16 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (18) + 1 Character Profile (1), 1 Character Bio (3), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 92.3: 23 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (21)
Ch 97.1: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 8), 1 Info Bio (16), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 97.2: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)	Ch 97.3: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 10)
Ch 97.4: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (6), 1 Info Bio (9)

Okinawa: 4 - 7 Arcs, 14 Chapters, 307 Total Pages, 265 Single Pages, 21 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram (0), 1 Character Profile (0); 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Profile (Volume):
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Arrival in Okinawa: 2 Chapters, 43 Total Pages, 39 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Character Profile (0):

Ch 95: 21 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (7)	Ch 96: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 1 Character Bio (1)

Great Treasure in Okinawa: 5 Chapters, 112 Total Pages, 90 Single Pages, 11 Double Page Spreads, 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 97: 16 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 12, 16)	Ch 98: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18), 1 Volume Drawing	Ch 99: 16 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 6, 10)
Ch 100: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 16)	Ch 101: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)

Confessions in Okinawa: 4 Chapters, 86 Total Pages, 76 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 102: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 103: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (20), 1 Panel Sketch
Ch 104: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 105: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (8, 16), 1 Diagram (1)

Last Day in Okinawa + Officer Saejima Part 2: 3 Chapters, 66 Total Pages, 60 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Profile (Volume):

Ch 106: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (20)	Ch 107: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 20), 1 Volume Skit, 1 Character Bio (Volume)	Ch 108: 22 Pages

Mayu Wakui: 4 - 5 Arcs, 16 Chapters, 348 Total Pages, 295 Single Pages, 26 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover; 3 Panel Sketches, 3 Volume Drawings, 10 Volume Sketches, 1 Character Profile (Volume), 1 Volume Recap:
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Enter Mayu Wakui: 5 Chapters, 111 Total Pages, 99 Single Pages, 6 Double Page Spreads, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 109: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)	Ch 110: 21 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (20), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 111: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 16)
Ch 112: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (1)	Ch 113: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)

Onizuka vs Mayu Wakui: 5 Chapters, 108 Total Pages, 93 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads, 1 Chapter Cover; 1 Volume Drawing, 7 Volume Sketches, 1 Volume Recap:

Ch 114: 20 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (6, 22), 7 Volume Sketches	Ch 115: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Volume Recap	Ch 116: 17 Pages + 1 Ch Cover
Ch 117: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 118: 16 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 12, 20)

The Underground Arm-Wrestling Match: 4 Chapters, 77 Total Pages, 57 Single Pages, 10 Double Page Spreads, 2 Panel Sketches:

Ch 119: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 6, 18)	Ch 120: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 12)
Ch 121: 13 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 6), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 122: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spread (4, 8, 18)

Triptophan: 2 Chapters, 52 Total Pages, 46 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads; 1 Panel Sketch, 3 Volume Sketches, 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Character Profile (Volume):

Ch 123: 19 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 22), 3 Volume Sketches	Ch 124: 27 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (14), 1 Panel Sketch, 2 Volume Drawings, 1 Character Bio (Volume)

Bad Memories: 5 - 7 Arcs, 18 Chapters, 361 Total Pages, 294 Single Pages, 33 Double Page Spreads, 4 Info Bios (1), 1 Double Page Spread Info Bio (0), 2 Double Page Spread Diagrams (0); 2 Volume Drawings, 2 Misc Pages (Volume), 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Double Page Spread Volume Recap:
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The Loneliest Heart in The World: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 38 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 1 Double Page Spread Diagram (0):

Ch 125: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (18), 1 DPS Diagram (18)	Ch 126: 20 Pages

Onizuka & Urumi: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 55 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio:

Ch 127: 20 Pages	Ch 128: 17 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (16) + 1 Info Bio (1)	Ch 129: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)

Urumi vs Miyabi: 4 Chapters, 80 Total Pages, 64 Single Pages, 8 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Diagram (0), 1 Info Bio (0); 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Double Page Spread Volume Recap, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 130: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 16)	Ch 131: 15 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 16), 1 Panel Sketch
Ch 132: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spread (2, 12)	Ch 133: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spread (6, 8), 1 DPS Diagram (6), 1 Info Bio (18), 1 Volume Drawing, 1 DPS Volume Recap

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Note: The page counts for the following chapters are likely inaccurate as I'm just going off of the commonly used scan online. It's somewhat noticeable when pages of a new chapter come after the end of the current either because the next chapter starts with a double page spread or a new part, or element, of the story is introduced at the last few pages.
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Crime & Punishment: 3 Chapters, 58 Total Pages, 48 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio (0):

Ch 134: 19 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 8)	Ch 135: 17 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (1, 17), 1 Info Bio (1)	Ch 136: 12 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (1)

Memories That Hurt: 6 Chapters, 123 Total Pages, 89 Single Pages, 17 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio (0), 1 Double Page Spread Info Bio (0); 2 Misc Pages (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 137: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (9, 15)	Ch 138: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (1, 5, 13)	Ch 139: 16 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (1, 13, 15, 23), 1 DPS Info Bio (15)
Ch 140: 12 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (1, 11, 15)	Ch 141: 13 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (1, 5, 15)	Ch 142: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 14), 1 Info Bio (4), 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Misc Pages (Volume)

Fallout: 2 Arcs, 4 Chapters, 77 Total Pages, 66 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 3 Info Bios (1), 1 Diagram (0), 1 Panel Sketch:
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Born Anew: 2 Chapters, 37 Total Pages, 34 Single Pages, 1 Double Page Spread, 2 Info Bios (1), 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 143: 15 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 144: 19 Pages + 1 Info Bio (16), 1 Info Bio (19)

The Burden of Friendship: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 32 Single Pages, 4 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio (0), 1 Diagram (0):

Ch 145: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (16), 1 Diagram (4)	Ch 146: 14 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 14, 18), 1 Info Bio (7)

Suguru Teshigawara: 4 - 6 Arcs, 10 Chapters, 238 Total Pages, 200 Single Pages, 18 Double Page Spreads (17), 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 4 Info Bios (2), 5 Diagrams (0), 5 Panel Sketches, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover; 19 Volume Pages, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume):
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Enter Makoto Fuyutsuki: 3 Chapters, 60 Total Pages, 54 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 2 Info Bios (0), 1 Diagram (0):

Ch 147: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 2 Info Bios (6, 17)	Ch 148: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 149: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Diagram (10)

Unraveling Ballad: 2 Chapters, 40 Total Pages, 29 Single Pages, 4 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 1 Info Bio, 2 Panel Sketches, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover; 9 Volume Pages, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume):

Ch 150: 11 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 12, 16), 9 Assistant Pages (Volume)	Ch 151: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (6) + 1 DPSCC (2) + 1 Info Bio (1), 1 Colored DPSCC, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Misc Page (Volume), 2 Panel Sketches

The Metamorphosis: 2 Chapters, 47 Total Pages, 39 Single Pages, 4 Double Page Spreads, 3 Panel Sketches:

Ch 152: 17 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (5, 7, 13), 3 Panel Sketches	Ch 153: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (22)

Heroes And Zeroes: 4 Chapters, 91 Total Pages, 78 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads (6), 1 Info Bio, 4 Diagram (0), 10 Volume Pages:

Ch 154: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 155: 24 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (6, 18, 26), 1 Diagram (8)
Ch 156: 17 Pages+ 1 Double Page Spread (16) + 1 Info Bio (1)	Ch 157: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (20), 3 Diagrams (1 - 2, 4), 10 Volume Pages, 1 Double Page Spread? (22)

Second Semester Begins: 4 Arcs, 8 Chapters, 190 Total Pages, 162 Single Pages, 14 Double Page Spreads, 2 Info Bios (0), 3 Diagrams (0), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 4 Panel Sketches; 10 Volume Pages, 2 Volume Drawings, 3 Volume Recaps, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume), 1 Info Bio (Volume):
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Misuzu Daimon: 2 Chapters, 67 Total Pages, 53 Single Pages, 7 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio (0), 2 Diagrams (0), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 3 Panel Sketches; 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Volume Recaps:

Ch 158: 38 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (2, 10, 40, 46), 1 Info Bio (7), 2 Diagrams (8, 25), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread, 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Volume Recaps, 2 Panel Sketches	Ch 159: 15 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 12, 20), 1 Panel Sketch

Yuuki Miyamori: 2 Chapters, 42 Total Pages, 38 Single Pages, 2 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram (0):

Ch 160: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 161: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 1 Diagram (13)

The New Students: 2 Arcs, 4 Chapters, 81 Total Pages, 71 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 1 Info Bio (0), 1 Panel Sketch; 10 Volume Pages, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Volume Recap, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume), 1 Info Bio (Volume):

Ch 162: 20 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4)	Ch 163: 16 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 12), 1 Info Bio (14)
Ch 164: 14 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (4), 10 Volume Pages, 1 Misc Page (Volume)	Ch 165: 21 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (20), 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Drawing, 1 Volume Recap, 1 Info Bio (Volume)

Ai Tokiwa: 2 Arcs, 9 Chapters, 222 Total Pages, 166 Single Pages, 24 Double Page Spreads, 4 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 1 Diagram (0), 2 Panel Sketches; 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Character Bios (Volume):
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Guardian Angels: 5 Chapters, 121 Total Pages, 91 Single Pages, 13 Double Page Spreads, 2 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 166: 15 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (6, 8, 18, 20), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 167: 22 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 6)	Ch 168: 20 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 6)
Ch 169: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (14, 20) + 1 DPSCC	Ch 170: 16 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 18, 20) + 1 DPSCC

Vengeance Of An Angel: 4 Chapters, 101 Total Pages, 75 Single Pages, 11 Double Page Spreads, 2 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 1 Diagram (0), 1 Panel Sketch; 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Character Bios (Volume):

Ch 171: 15 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (2, 8, 12, 24) + 1 DPSCC, 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 172: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (14) + 1 DPSCC, 1 Misc Page (Volume)
Ch 173: 22 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 8, 10), 1 Volume Drawing, 2 Character Bios (Volume)	Ch 174: 16 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 12, 20), 1 Diagram (4)

Yoshikawa & Anko + Officer Saejima Part 3: 5 Chapters, 88 Total Pages, 78 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 2 Panel Sketches:

Ch 175: 18 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (18)	Ch 176: 16 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2)	Ch 177: 11 Pages, 1 Panel Sketch
Ch 178: 13 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Panel Sketch	Ch 179: 20 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 22)

Miyabi Aizawa: 3 - 4 Arcs, 10 Chapters, 285 Total Pages, 229 Single Pages, 27 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 2 Diagrams (0), 3 Panel Sketches; 2 Miscellaneous Pages (Volume), 2 Volume Drawings:
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The End of Summer: 2 Chapters, 46 Total Pages, 38 Single Pages, 4 Double Page Spreads, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume):

Ch 180: 20 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (4, 20)	Ch 181: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 20), 1 Misc Page (Volume)

Hostage Situation: 3 Chapters, 71 Total Pages, 61 Single Pages, 5 Double Page Spreads, 1 Diagram (0), 3 Panel Sketches, 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 182: 17 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 16, 18), 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Drawing	Ch 183: 19 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (6), 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Diagram (21)	Ch 184: 25 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (2), 1 Panel Sketch

The Secret of Class 3-4: 5 Chapters, 168 Total Pages, 130 Single Pages, 18 Double Page Spreads, 1 Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 1 Diagram (0); 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 185: 23 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 10, 28)	Ch 186: 27 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (3, 15, 31)	Ch 187: 30 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (2, 6, 32), 1 Diagram (22)
Ch 188: 28 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (2, 16, 30, 34), 1 Misc Page (Volume)	Ch 189: 22 Pages + 5 Double Page Spreads (4, 10, 20, 22, 30) + 1 DPSCC (2), 1 Volume Drawing

Endgame: 2 - 3 Arcs, 11 Chapters, 1 Bonus Chapter, 358 Total Pages, 268 Single Pages, 39 Double Page Spreads, 5 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 6 Diagrams (1), 1 End Cover, 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 4 Character Profiles (0), 4 Panel Sketches, 3 Miscellaneous Pages (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing:
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The Plan to Kill Onizuka: 5 Chapters, 125 Total Pages, 95 Single Pages, 15 Double Page Spreads, 3 Diagrams (0), 1 Panel Sketch:

Ch 190: 22 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (12), 2 Diagrams (2, 5)	Ch 191: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (12, 18)	Ch 192: 21 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 18), 1 Diagram (4), 1 Panel Sketch
Ch 193: 14 Pages + 6 Double Page Spreads (2, 12, 14, 17, 22, 24)	Ch 194: 20 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (4, 8, 18, 20)

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Sayanora: 5 Chapters, 149 Total Pages, 103 Single Pages, 21 Double Page Spreads, 2 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 2 Diagrams (0), 1 Panel Sketch, 2 Miscellaneous Pages (Volume), 1 Volume Drawing:

Ch 195: 18 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (2, 16) + 1 DPSCC (4), 1 Diagram (15), 2 Misc Pages (Volume)	Ch 196: 19 Pages + 4 Double Page Spreads (4, 24, 26 28) + 1 DPSCC (2), 1 Diagram (16), 1 Panel Sketch, 1 Volume Drawing	Ch 197: 14 Pages + 5 Double Page Spreads (6, 12, 14, 20, 22)
Ch 198: 22 Pages + 3 Double Page Spreads (4, 10, 16)	Ch 199: 30 Pages + 7 Double Page Spreads (4, 12, 22, 24, 30, 32, 40)

Forever: 2 Chapters, 84 Total Pages, 70 Single Pages, 3 Double Page Spreads, 3 Double Page Spread Chapter Covers, 3 Diagrams (1), 1 End Cover, 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored Double Page Spread Chapter Cover, 4 Character Profiles (0), 2 Panel Sketches, 1 Miscellaneous Page (Volume):

Ch 200: 33 Pages + 2 Double Page Spreads (32, 36) + 1 DPSCC (2), 1 Colored Page, 1 Colored DPSCC, 2 Panel Sketches, 2 Diagrams (10, 30)	Ch 200.5: 37 Pages + 1 Double Page Spread (26) + 2 DPSCCs (1, 4) + 1 Diagram (44) + 1 End Cover (45), 1 Misc Page (Volume), 4 Character Bios (6)

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This is really hard to write.
Over the last year, I've done zero cleaning outside of removing trash and there stuff EVERYWHERR and the place is filthy. The only vermin issue is clothing moths (RIP hand knit sweaters). The apartment is an efficiency student apartment with only a few small built in kitchen cabinets for storage. I have, on top of that two small single freestanding closets, an Ikea Enhet, and a small dresser. No, there isn't even built in bathroom storage. I have a tiny rack from ikea for cleaning supplies/shower supplies.
Over and over again I read the advice that "everything needs to go back in it's home" but NOTHING has a home. I have no idea how to make things a home when I have so little storage (I need to buy more when the apartment is clean - please don't say I have enough, and need to work with what I have, I couldn't buy any more when I moved in because of poverty). I can't visualize anything. I have no idea how to start. I have no idea what I actually need to keep. The only thing more anxiety inducing than looking at the clutter is trying to think my way through the clutter.
Are there any guides for this? Worksheets? I need something more concrete than Dana White. A lot of systems assume you have a house or at least another room where you can move stuff. I have neither of those things. I need to organize/declutter THEN clean (If you've seen Midwest Magic's ADHD cleaning video, I have the rage issue when my things are moved and I can't find them)
I have no executive function left and no one I trust to help with the organizing part. Even writing this is making my heart beat out of my chest. I just need help on how to THINK or pre-made worksheets where I can fill in the blanks for myself. Or something else.

This is really hard to write. So apologies if this doesn't make sense.
Over the last year, I've done zero cleaning outside of removing trash and there stuff EVERYWHERR and the place is filthy. The only vermin issue is clothing moths (RIP hand knit sweaters). The apartment is an efficiency student apartment with only a few small built in kitchen cabinets for storage. I have, on top of that two small single freestanding closets, an Ikea Enhet, and a small dresser. No, there isn't even built in bathroom storage. I have a tiny rack from ikea for cleaning supplies/shower supplies.
Over and over again I read the advice that "everything needs to go back in it's home" but NOTHING has a home. I have no idea how to make things a home when I have so little storage (I need to buy more when the apartment is clean - please don't say I have enough, and need to work with what I have, I couldn't buy any more when I moved in because of poverty). I can't visualize anything. I have no idea how to start. I have no idea what I actually need to keep. The only thing more anxiety inducing than looking at the clutter is trying to think my way through the clutter.
Are there any guides for this? Worksheets? I need something more concrete than Dana White. A lot of systems assume you have a house or at least another room where you can move stuff. I have neither of those things. I need to organize/declutter THEN clean (If you've seen Midwest Magic's ADHD cleaning video, I have the rage issue when my things are moved and I can't find them)
I have no executive function left and no one I trust to help with the organizing part. Even writing this is making my heart beat out of my chest. I just need help on how to THINK or pre-made worksheets where I can fill in the blanks for myself. Or something else.

This is a build up in my heart but I figured I would ask.
My NGM and NM were just so into this idea that it was a great gift idea to give math flash cards, math work books, or office software. They congratulated themselves that it was a “separate but equal” gift to video games and toys. So GC would get 101 awesome video game collection and I’d get a knock off of a knock off of office software with no instructions.
Once they had a boarder and convinced him that he was joining the family Christmas stuff and he asked what I would want since he was a single guy with no kids. They legit thought that this was a clever idea and convinced him that it was such a great gift.
Well, it was a gift for them because I can’t count the number of summer days or vacation days we had to do worksheets. Not even fun worksheets with crosswords or puzzles—just el cheapo lines of equations and fill in the blanks.
Is this an NPD?
LPT: no kid is so enamored with math that they legit want a math workbook over a comic book, a piece of chocolate, a toy.

The film world is vast and full of wonder, just like the selection of gifts perfect for film students.
Whether they’re aspiring directors, screenwriters, or just movie buffs, we’ve got you covered with this ultimate list of film-themed gifts.
So, grab your popcorn and dive into the reel deal!

The Wes Anderson Collection: A Journey Through a Unique Cinematic World

The Wes Anderson Collection is an absolute must-have for any fan of the iconic director.
This New York Times bestselling book takes readers on a captivating journey through Anderson’s filmography, revealing previously unpublished behind-the-scenes photos, artwork, and ephemera.
With an introduction by Michael Chabon, this meticulously designed book offers a unique look into Anderson’s life and career as he engages in a fascinating conversation with movie and television critic Matt Zoller Seitz.
From Bottle Rocket to Moonrise Kingdom, you’ll explore the melancholic, playful, wise, and utterly unique spirit of Wes Anderson’s movies.
This collection will surely be prized for any Wes Anderson admirer or film enthusiast.

The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian by Phil Szostak

A visual feast for any Star Wars fan, this book explores the incredible concept art and design behind the hit series.

The Filmmaker Says: Empowering Your Film Journey with Words of Wisdom

The Filmmaker Says is the perfect gift for anyone looking to get inspired by the greats of the film world.
This colorful compendium of quotations brings together the voices of over 100 influential creators of filmed entertainment, ranging from famous directors to groundbreaking auteurs.
The book provides a rare opportunity to delve into the minds of these film visionaries as they share witty bon mots, outrageous pronouncements, and heartfelt reflections on the art of filmmaking.
As Frank Capra said, “No saint, no pope, no general, no sultan, has ever had the power that a filmmaker has.”
This powerful collection will ignite your passion and drive for cinema, making it an essential gift for aspiring auteurs and avid moviegoers.

The Godfather Trilogy: Corleone Legacy Edition

A beautiful collector’s edition of a cinematic masterpiece, this gift is perfect for any film student who loves The Godfather saga.

The Film Buff’s Bucket List: Expanding Your Cinematic Horizons

The Film Buff’s Bucket List by Chris Stuckmann is the ultimate guide to help you expand your cinematic knowledge and appreciation.
This book features the very best 50 movies since 2000 that you must see before you die, handpicked by one of YouTube’s most popular film reviewers.
As a film student, immersing yourself in Stuckmann’s selection of films will expose you to diverse stories, styles, and genres, allowing you to develop a well-rounded understanding of cinema’s second golden age.
This book is your ticket to a richer, more exciting world of film that will challenge your perceptions and spark lively discussions with fellow cinephiles.

The Film Director’s Clapperboard

This clapperboard is a fun and functional gift that will add authenticity and flair to any film project.

The Movie Book by DK: Unlocking the Secrets of Cinema

The Movie Book by DK is an essential guide for anyone looking to expand their film knowledge and delve deeper into the rich history of cinema.
Part of the fascinating Big Ideas series, this book simplifies complex topics through eye-catching graphics, diagrams, and easy-to-follow text.
With more than 100 of the best movies ever made worldwide, the book covers everything from black-and-white classics to international art-house films and 21st-century sci-fi.
You’ll discover key themes, big ideas, and iconic moments, making it the perfect resource for beginners and experts.
So, prepare to embark on an incredible cinematic adventure that will broaden your understanding and appreciation of the world of movies.

The Movie Night Popcorn Maker: Bringing Cinema-Style Snacking Home

The Betty Crocker BC-2970CR Cinema-Style Popcorn Maker is a delightful addition to any film student’s movie night experience.
This red popcorn maker can pop up to 170g of kernels, yielding up to 25 cups of delicious popcorn.
The motorized bi-directional stirring rod ensures perfect popping, and the nonstick surface makes for easy cleaning.
The large popper cover flips over to become a convenient serving bowl, while the heat-resistant handles and base provide safety and ease of use.
Make your movie nights even more enjoyable with this retro-style popcorn maker that brings the taste of the cinema right into your home.

That’s a Wrap!
As the credits roll on our list of fantastic gifts for film students, we hope you’ve found the perfect present to excite your favorite movie enthusiast’s heart.
Whether they’re studying film or simply passionate about the medium, these gifts will surely delight and inspire.
So, grab one of these unique gifts and let the magic of cinema take center stage in their lives.
Lights, camera, action!

Even the prospect of posting 1000 updates is a bit daunting. I'm not going to have time to get anything transition-ish done, I'll be too busy talking about it.
I told my eldest daughter today, and she took it like a champ. Gender-queerness is a not-insignificant aspect of her own community, so she was unfazed, and happy that I was happy. My community of support is growing, and so is my confidence and happiness.
I take great pleasure in knowing that every day I live is another day closer to having no boy clothes in the dresser drawer, and no one in my life telling me to be what society wants me to be. Every day, I get measurably closer to total gender freedom.
Last night my wife and I got drunk with her mother, and had some candid conversations. I transitioned from a sober person to a drunk person remarkably swiftly. My mother in law, and her husband, have both received the news of my gender developments with friendly apathy, unconcerned provided that I'm keeping wifey happy. Uh, yeah... sure... definitely didn't blow up our life together a week ago, to her great distress... haha... ha...
Two days into this journey, the inevitable outcome feels very abstract, intangible and conceptual; I think about what the day will feel like when the only things hanging in my closet are dresses; the only garments filling my draws are feminine. When I will have a daily make up routine, instead of a weekly. I often think of myself in circles of friends, looking gendery, feeling joy. The thought of choosing only clothes I love for the rest of my life fills me with unreasonable levels of bliss.
To help with my wife's transition to me transitioning (It's a thing, I didn't make that up), I'm maintaining a gender-fluid lifestyle for the immediate term. This is fine, because I need to present AMAB for work anyway. I am re-starting study next semester, with the goal of completing a degree and a post-graduate diploma, and shifting into a queer-safe industry, where I can help people like me, and probably you, if you're reading this.
My concept of self has updated to one of less politicised, gender queer armour. I'm feeling flutters of femininity emanating from my soul. I'm slowly detaching from the masculine masking and mimicking routines as they arrive (brought to you by autism). I'm trying not to be the guy everyone wants me to be; just to feel my centre, and be myself.
I'm not spectacularly gendered either way, to be honest, no hyper femininity is arising from the shadows of repression. Well, not yet. It's only been a week, it's probably too early to tell.
I see now, why my therapist has instructed me to effectively sit on this for 6 months. The amount that my self concept has fluctuated in a week is surprising. I need to document this as a diagram weekly, it will make interesting reading one day.
Despite the ongoing fluctuation, I never feel 'not-trans'. I haven't felt attached to masculinity since admitting this deep truth to myself. Not even in the slightest. It's more been about developing an understanding of who I really am, when my consideration for my roles, responsibilities and attachments fall away. Who is that, in there? Are you a woman? Are you non-binary? My attachment to my wife and being the person she needs to be is a major barrier to becoming who I am. That's not her fault; that's love's fault. I want her to be happy, as much as I want myself to be.
I envision myself as feminine, alternative looking person, with piercings, epic make up, gorgeous, long, punk rock hair. Some kind of mix between cottage-core and steam punk aesthetics. Hopefully enough real hair growing back from the brink of male pattern baldness, that I can dye it again. I can hope. I can also apply Regaine.
Am I a girl today? No. But I know for sure, I'm not a boy.
Pronouns today: They/Them. These feel true.
Am I sliding slowly into pure trans-woman as each day passes? I don't know. I don't know if I'm supposed to know yet. There's no action to take in the mean time. Nothing to prove; just peace, self reflection, and observance of my inner world. Record the feelings, and move on; try to think about something else. Fail to think of anything else, and swing back to hyper focussing on gender (Autism).
Last night, I cried into my wife's chest, as she told me it was okay. That she was here no matter what, as a best friend in the worst case. That she was sorry I didn't get the life that I deserved, and that there was still time for me.
I was so grateful to have her back in my corner. I'm going to do everything in my power to keep her there; and try and keep the romance going, even when I'm almost as pretty as she is.
As I cried, I felt the old pain of repression and longing, burn up in the furnace of my heart. I felt lighter with each moment of vulnerability. This is real, I thought. This isn't a dream. I am going to get to be myself, and still be loved. This is heaven.

I want to give him stuff to make his life easier because dear lord that man needs some disability aids, but I'm not all that knowledgable on general physical disability aids compared to stuff for plantar fasciitis and autism, so some extra opinions would be appreciated
Since Toshinori has to buff up and puff down at seconds notice constantly, I imagine there are a few items he'd probably benefit from using wouldn't be feasable in public at least
What do you think he would be able to use in public and 'get away with'?
Things I think he could use and not get 'found out' easily:
- A breathing machine, I think it's called a CPAP? What people who have trouble breathing in their sleep use. I don't know much about breathing issues besides asthma=inhaler, but I imagine that since he got half his respiratory system basically torn out, he might need some help. This might conflict with his coughing up blood, though, so maybe he just sleeps on his side and prays?
- Thermal compressive wear. His body fat can't be above 1% and his heart can't be doing all that well - just look at him. When he's buffed up he looks like if a body builder got lipo, when he's puffed down he looks like a skeleton got lipo. He's in his 50s as well. You can't convince me he isn't freezing all the time, and thermal compressive clothing under his regular clothes would both keep him warmer and help with his circulation. He has access to a fancy kind that can stretch like Hulk's bottoms, so they could stay on even when buffed up (maybe also skin coloured, so if his costume tears it's hard to tell).
- Give this poor man some orthopaedic shoes
- That segway he uses when training Izuku. I want him to use it all the time. It's easily ditchable if he needs to puff up. I just love the mental image of it - the most famous man in the world gets pretty much torn in half for a second time in a decade, this time on international telly. A few weeks later he rolls up on a segway and cheers you on as you go on your morning run.
Slightly tangental headcanon: He has a ranked tier list of various meal replacement/protein shake brands, bioactive yoghurt brands, smoothie and soup recipes, etc that's always being updated - he can't have 'regular' meals because he doesn't have a stomach, and having a little hobby like this makes it more tolerable. Kirishima once asked him for a protein powder recommendation and the whole class had to sit through to an impromptu 2 hour lecture on the topic, with diagrams drawn on the nearest wall - oddly enough Aizawa found it the most helpful, and recommended he give the same talk to 1-B. Izuku was just interested in how the list had changed since the last time he'd heard it.

SCRYING GAME
Everything begins in The Hollow. Their first generations: let’s call them “The Community” arrived under The Seer’s guidance. The Seer plays a game, and tells fortunes with the same deck: a series of private dice rolls and inscrutable diagrams. The Community trusted this game, they trusted it without understanding it. It had led them to fish-filled streams, intimate knowledge of the stars and the elements, and even here to their Cenote Settlement. And now the game has revealed to The Seer a vital path, a path that would lead them to safety before the coming floods.
She watched, perched high up in a tree, her favorite spot, as The Earth Movers created an Earthwork replica of the path under The Draftsman’s supervision. In the end of the path she’d seen a safe, quiet place: caverns of leathery-black birds, a lake of eyeless fish, and a towering flame. And now The Diver walked the mounds, he was already remembering the path. He was almost ready.
Yet The Diver did not return. Was he on his way back? Or had he been lost underground? Either way, it was too late. The Seer huddled in a small cave, waiting for the water to drown her. Others had run away at this elevation, but she knew better not to. She thought back to the first flood, long before her birth, a flood she had only seen in dice rolls. She stayed there for a while, and then opened her eyes again. Now the water was crossing her heart. She took the game pieces from her bag and released them, gently, into the flood.
PUEBLO DE NADA
Hundreds of years later, the “People of Nothing” arrived at november. Following flocks of migratory birds down from central america, up somewhere to florida, and ultimately to this place. They were a scientific community “Everything is an experiment,” and held a belief that every aspect of human nature, whether it’d be physical, social, psychological, emotional, and spiritual, all of it are variables affected easily by their surroundings. They changed their conditions, document the results, and repeat the process. Their first experiment was to free the horses.
Lately though, Frasier had been making rounds in various parts of The Community. He moved from one area of community life to the next in search of excess to cut back. And now he'd turned his scythe to the library. It was to be the latest victim of Frazier's reckless experiment. Frazier proposed and executed experiments just like any other community member, but his experiments had a scorched earth quality. They were all destructive. The “new selection” meant decimating their store of books according to his own inscrutable criteria.
Even the scheduled Feedback Circle sessions had been losing their teeth lately. A heated disagreement in Feedback Circle — like the one Frazier and Chris had — was just a healthy argument. Now Chris has been gone for three months. Everyone was saying he'd deserted the community. “Deserted” ... before Frazier, people just left. When did it become a referendum on loyalty?And like Chris, practically everyone who criticized Frazier had been punished, one way or another. Chris’ wife, Sandra, was separated from her son, Alex. It was obviously a punishment, even though Frazier insisted it was just to help Alex develop independence and community ethics. She knew she was being punished for her complaints in Feedback Circle — when she was the only one who dared to speak against butchering the community's goats. She’d seen the same thing happen to Isabelle after criticizing Frazier's new flood control plans. Isabelle ... where was she now? She and her children just disappeared into the woods …
Frazier’s increasingly central role in The Community had undermined the purpose of their community altogether. Slowly, they all left, back in through the woods …
DERVISH BROTHERS FLYING CIRCUS
They called themselves the “Dervish Brothers Flying Circus;” there were three Dervish Brothers. Two were women. The oldest had flown a reconnaissance plane at the tail end of the war, then returned home to teach his younger sisters the art of trick flying. None of them were gifted pilots, but they were fearless.
They'd built a track weaving through the soggy ruins of the ‘People of Nothing’s flooded works, their acrobatic feats and daring stunts breathing new life into the long-forgotten ruins. The audience sits in awe as trapeze artists soar through the air, seemingly defying gravity against the backdrop of flood swept ruins. The airstrip, now rarely used, bore the scent of oil. Eventually that name outlived The Dervish Brothers, who died in the first few years. Run of the circus was left to their aunt Cassandra, who everyone calls Cass.
Cass played cards, and told fortunes with the same deck. Sometimes she'd switch it up mid-game or mid-divination — until you never knew whether you were winning or losing, or if good luck in the game might mean bad luck in some other part of your life. She'd predicted the decline of the circus, of course. And of course nobody had believed her. Demand for aerial stunts having faded almost completely, and many of their company having died or aged out of the profession, Clyde and Cass found for their remaining pilots a steady flow of contract work delivering mail to remote rural areas. But this place was abandoned.
One day, while taking a break under the shade of a light aircraft, Clyde flipped through a stack of unopened letters as Cass shuffled her deck of cards, their thoughts reflecting on the town's past and uncertain future. All the state said they wanted was to knock down some trees — many trees — and build a road tying this small town to the larger web of streets and highways that entombed the rest of the country. It would bring in new goods, new people, maybe even some cash from tourism. Many of the residents supported the idea. But Clyde and his inner circle of stunt pilots turned mail-carriers knew that a road would be the end of their secluded paradise. Just now, Cass's cards predicted they'd be here for quite a while.
COMPANY TOWN
The Consolidated Power Company moved in here a while back and set it up like their own little town. There’s no street here, except if you count the old airstrip. Of course, The Power Company made sure the town didn't need any, halting the states’ plans.
FROM ALONG THE ECHO
The trails underneath Kentucky were first blazed by The Diver a long, long time ago. He’d left the camp there, its fire is still going, hundreds of years later. They must have used a bit of that strange cave moss the locals say can burn indefinitely. His bones are piled neatly by the fire, arranged later by some unknown passerby. In the intervening eons, the place had become a local diving site for daring divers.
Settled along its banks is The Hard Times Distillery,

My two recipents both have moderate/severe ME/CFS with exhaustion and brain fog (cognitive impairments) as well as anxiety, GI, muscle weakness and other issues. I'm having to do almost all their medical-related communication and prep. I'd estimate it takes me 20-30 hrs/week between the two, depending on the week.
TL:DR: Would IHSS pay for instrumental cognitive/communication tasks essential to getting appropriate medical care for those with mental health or cognitive impairment? Has anyone tried? Some publications suggest a broad range of necessary IADLs are within the IHSS scope (see at bottom).
Examples of the medical-related instrumental activities of daily living (IADL)s they are unable to do due to their physical and cognitive impairments:

• set up MD appointment, explain to an MD their symptoms and remember or articulate questions; f/u on referrals; compose messages to providers via the electroninc health record (EHR); call and change appointments to telehealth or just reschedule whenever too impaired to attend in person that day.
• My friend also uses the Visible app and the Verity HR tracker for ME/CFS. I annotate the day's heart rate graph with the activities that raised her heart rate, fill out the daily sx log. (It helps her learn the patterns of what makes her worse, so she can better manage her condition, and we can tell MDs, change meds, exercise, etc).
• I sometimes track headaches, sleep, food to see if there are triggers.
• I help both prep for MD appointments, by observing (and sometimes logging) symptoms, and then helping them recall and prioritize symptoms, concerns and questions.

It would help her get better from ME/CFS if I got recognized and paid for these. (Currently she feels guilty about how much is on my plate (especially unpaid). So whenever she feels good for a bit and i'm busy with another task (as I usually am) she will go and do a kitchen task, start a laundry, etc. she thus pushes through her symptoms and exceeds her energy envelope, which makes her get way worse (crashes). This leaves her bedbound for some days, with exhaustion, muscle aches, orthostatic sx, cognitive dysfunction, etc, and then I have to do more. Repeat.
Based on some publications, it seems that IHSS social workers ought to allocate time for this, but I've not seen it on any of their worksheets. Here's one example:

Advocate Tips:
IHSS is not restricted to consumers who need physical assistance with tasks. Individuals with mental health disabilities and cognitive impairments may also benefit from in-home care which provides assistance with a wide variety of activities of daily living (ADLs) and instrumental activities of daily living (IADLs).
When assisting an individual applying for IHSS, discuss their needs for assistance with tasks that are difficult because of their mental health conditions. Then ensure that the relevant information is communicated to the IHSS social worker.

Chapter 2: Day one

Charlotte couldn’t sleep. She stayed up for the remainder of the night, thinking about the odd nightmare that woke her up in the first place. What was that? What was the figure that she saw? Why did it all feel so real? A few hours later, Charlotte was getting ready for school, trying to pretend nothing ever happened. She put her lunchbox into her backpack, threw it around her shoulder, and ran outside to jump into her father’s car. “Do you have everything?” he asked as she threw her backpack inside the car. Charlotte stopped to think for a minute. She had her lunch, she had all of her folders and binders, she had her book. “Algebra homework!” Charlotte ran back inside and grabbed the homework off of the table where she left it before running back out again shortly after. “Ready.” Her father waited for her to get back in the car, and started driving. “You look tired, did you sleep alright?” he questioned as he pulled out of the driveway. “Yes, I slept fine, I just woke up a little early,” Charlotte half-lied. She hoped that her father would leave it at that, not wanting to tell him that she couldn’t sleep all night. Unfortunately, she wasn’t so lucky. “How early?” Alright, now what? She didn’t want to lie to her father. “Oh you know, nothing too bad, it was only a little bit earlier than usual,” Charlotte responded vaguely. Her father seemed to have gotten the message, or just gave up, and stopped bringing it up. The two sat still in silence for the duration of the drive, Charlotte just stared out the window, and her father just focused on driving. 

“Now, has everyone completed the homework I assigned?” Mrs. Fischer spoke aloud to the class. Several students, Charlotte included, began to rise out of their seats and placed their papers on Mrs. Fischer’s desk. “Very good.”
Charlotte pulled a math worksheet out of a blue folder and began writing on it. She never found anything in this class too difficult, but today was different for some reason. Charlotte couldn't focus. A weird feeling rose inside her, an unsettling feeling, but Charlotte couldn't think of the source. Why did she feel so uncomfortable? A quick scan around the room found her answer. Someone was staring at her.
Conner. The new student. He had just arrived this morning. As soon as Charlotte saw, he quickly looked down at his desk without saying a word. Maybe he was shy? Kinda like her. But why was he staring at her? It doesn't matter. What matters is getting her work done. It's best to just ignore it.
Mrs. Fischer looked down at her watch for a few seconds before speaking, every student looking at her with anticipation. “You are dismissed.”
Everyone stood up from their seats and began walking towards the door in unison as students flooded the hallways.
The battering noise of constant chatter quickly overpowered every other sound nearby, even Charlotte’s own thoughts.
Charlotte was almost at her next class when the weird feeling suddenly returned. Someone was watching her. Charlotte began looking around as she walked forward, hoping to spot who it was staring at her from afar. Was it Conner again? No, he was nowhere in sight. The only time she saw someone looking at her was the occasional weird look from somebody concerned about her frantic turning. Nobody was watching her, at least, nobody she could see. Despite it being clear nobody was looking at her, the feeling didn't leave her body, and she kept frantically looking around. Charlotte suddenly collapsed to the ground along with her belongings.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Charlotte heard an unfamiliar voice speak. Looking up, Charlotte saw Conner standing at his locker. He reached out his hand with a smile. “Let me help you up.”
Charlotte took Conner’s hand and he lifted her up onto her feet. “Thank you,” Charlotte said, leaning over to pick up her belongings. She heard Conner step away from his locker and he started picking up Charlotte's items as well.
“I’m Conner.” He put Charlotte’s items back into her hands with what she had picked up herself.
“Thank you, Conner. I’m Charlotte.”
Conner closed his locker and looked back at Charlotte. “Well, Charlotte, what class do you have next?”
“I was walking to Mr. Evans’ room, what about you?”
“Oh! I also have Mr. Evans.” Conner started walking towards Mr. Evans classroom. Charlotte stared, slightly perplexed, why was he being so nice to her? With fear of the unsettling feeling creeping up on her again, Charlotte shook her head and followed Conner to class.
Charlotte walked out of the building and towards her spot under the Oak tree as everyone else walked towards the buses. It didn't take long for everybody else to clear out, leaving Charlotte alone in front of the school building. As expected, her father was going to be late again.
She began to play on her phone as a sharp feeling shot through her. Someone was watching her. Charlotte looked at the windows on the school building, thinking maybe one of the school staff was concerned about her still being there. Not a soul, nor was there anybody in the parking lot. What should she do? What could she do? She had no choice but to keep waiting for her father to arrive.
The feeling only got worse as time went on. The roads were silent, making it feel like she was the only person in the world. Where was her father? It doesn't normally take him this long. Why is everything so quiet? Who is looking at her? Why are they looking at her?
Charlotte almost screamed at the sound of a bird chirping on the tree above her, immediately scaring it off. With a sigh, Charlotte sat down on the curb and stared at the parking lot, hoping that the sight of her father would greet her.
A buzz went off in her hand. Charlotte looked at her phone to see a message from her father.
‘I’m stuck working overtime, you're going to have to walk home today, sorry’
This wasn't the first time Charlotte had to walk home, but the sense of actively being stalked prevented her from doing anything for a few minutes. She just sat on the curb, staring into space.
“Alright,” she said with a deep breath, “Let's go.” She stood up, cautiously watching the parking lot for whomever was watching her. Charlotte began walking down the sidewalk.
Whoever was stalking her, they didn't let her go after she started walking. The odd feeling followed her wherever she went. Charlotte looked behind her with a nervous expression. Nobody was there. Feeling uncomfortable, she started walking a little faster. She wasn't even 50 feet from the school, and she was already starting to lose it. After a few minutes, her walk turned into a jog, then she started running, and she ran all the way home.
Charlotte felt a lot better in the safety of her own home. The feeling of being stalked had vanished, although she still didn't feel good about the whole situation. Who was stalking her? Why couldn't she find them? Ni, that's not important, what's important is what they even wanted with her. She needed to tell someone, right? Being stalked is something you should tell people about, isn't it? Charlotte began to picture what would happen if she told her parents.
Her father walked through the door, hanging his coat on the coat rack, and setting his briefcase on the floor. “Charlie, I’m home!” He walked into the living room where Charlotte sat. “I’m sorry for making you walk home from school, I didn't expect to work overtime, I would’ve told your mother to stay home today.”
Charlotte looked up at her father, feeling bad that he felt the need to apologize to her so often. “It's no big deal, I’m fine.”
“Charlotte, I-”
“Dad… After school today…,” Charlotte began. Her father sat down and looked at her. “While I was walking home…I don't know…I felt like I was being watched, all the way home, like someone was following me…”
A shocked expression appeared on her father's face. “Charlotte…Somebody was looking at you, so what? Quit being a baby.” Charlotte looked up at her father, confused. “This is your problem, you take everything so seriously, you act like everything is a big deal. Charlotte, I’m so disappointed in you.” The last words felt like a bullet, piercing her heart as her father got up from the chair and walked upstairs. Charlotte sat still, crying and confused.
No, that's ridiculous. That wouldn't happen. Her father loved her, he would never be disappointed in her…
…Right?
She heard the front door fly open. Her father walked through the door, hanging his coat on the coat rack, and setting his briefcase on the floor. “Charlie, I’m home!” He walked into the living room where Charlotte sat. “I’m sorry for making you walk home from school, I didn't expect to work overtime, I would’ve told your mother to stay home today.”
Charlotte looked up at her father, feeling bad that he felt the need to apologize to her so often. “It's no big deal, I’m fine.”
“Charlotte I-”
“Dad…” Wait, what if she was right? What if he thought she was weak? What if he thought she was being a baby? What if he was disappointed in her? What was she doing? She can't tell him. It's not a big deal, it's just like earlier with Conner, just shut up and ignore it, there is no need to tell anybody. She needed to get out of this. What does she say? She already started talking, and her father definitely wouldn't take ‘Nevermind’ as an answer.
“It's fine,” she spoke in a serious enough tone to not sound suspicious.
“I know you think that, but I just can't help but feel guilty. But, if you say so, then I guess I can try to forget about it.” Her father gave her a smile, and walked upstairs.
“It's for the best,” Charlotte whispered to herself. “It's not a big deal.” She took a deep breath. “Just ignore it.”
“Dinner!” Charlotte's mother yelled. Charlotte walked down the stairs to see four plates of spaghetti on the table. “I made spaghetti, your favorite!” Everyone sat down at the table and began eating.
Her father looked up from his plate and at Charlotte, who wasn't eating a thing. “Charlie, is everything alright? You haven't touched your spaghetti.”
Charlotte looked at her father, with a clear sense of fear displayed on her face. “Oh, it's nothing.” She picked up her fork, and slowly began eating.
It's happening again. She's being watched. It feels like it's right behind her, it's eyes burning the back of her head. Suddenly the safety of her own home didn't feel so safe. Whoever was spying on her, they were inside, and nobody else knew. She shoved some spaghetti into her mouth and forced it down her throat. She didn't want to eat, not now, not while she was being stalked.
Her mother wasn’t buying it. She looked at Charlotte and spoke with a passive-aggressive tone. “Charlotte…”
“What? I’m just not very hungry right now,” Charlotte spoke in a nervous, not even a little bit convincing voice. “Honest.”
Her mother looked her in the eyes for a second before she talked again. “Alright… If you aren’t hungry, then you can go. There’s plenty of noodles if you change your mind.”
Charlotte immediately pushed herself up, washed her plate, and went up to her room. She closed the door, locked it, and leaped onto her bed. If there was one place where she felt safe, this was it. This was her place to think, and Charlotte had a lot to think about.
“What’s going on?” She thought. Somebody was stalking her, and had been all day. No matter how hard she looks, Charlotte can’t seem to find them, even when there is nowhere else they could possibly be. Nobody else seems to be able to see the stalker either, since it was right behind her at dinner, she knew it was, but her family wasn’t addressing it. Nobody else seems to be having these weird feelings of being watched like she was. She was the only one. And there was no way she could tell her parents about this, they would think she was insane. Okay, maybe she needed to calm down. A shower. Showers are calming, right? Yeah, that’s what she would do, she would take a shower to calm herself down, then think about things.
After showering, Charlotte went back into her room, locked the door, and laid still on her bed. The shower was relaxing. Or a t least, it would’ve been, if her invisible stalker hadn’t followed her inside. The entire time, she felt someone watching her. Maybe taking a shower wasn’t the best idea. What she really needed was some rest, surely that would help.
As the sky turned black, Charlotte settled under the covers of her warm bed. Maybe, she would wake up tomorrow and her stalker would be gone, and she would feel as good as new. Maybe she would be able to focus on her school work. Maybe she would be able to relax. Her phone vibrated on the nightstand next to Charlotte. A text from her father.
‘Goodnight.’
Charlotte set her phone back down, and closed her eyes.
Then she opened them again. The closet. Something was in the closet. Charlotte saw the outline of a figure against the back wall of the closet across from her. It was her stalker. Charlotte froze. What should she do? What would her father want her to do? Charlotte remembered her father from her vision. “Quit being a baby.” But that wasn’t her father, was it? That was just something she thought. It didn’t matter, she needed to face this head on. Slowly, Charlotte crawled out of the safety of her bed, not taking her eyes off of the figure, and made her way to the wooden floor beside her bed. She walked over to the closet, her mind racing with anticipation. She reached the closet. Carefully, Charlotte raised her hand to the light switch next to her and turned it on to reveal that the stalker was….
….A pile of clothes.
Charlotte let out a sigh of relief and moved the clothes before returning to the comfort of her bed. Charlotte got back under the covers, and closed her eyes.
The closet. Charlotte could see the figure in the closet. She stared at the figure as it stared at her, motionless, not making a sound. The only noise she could hear was her heavy breathing.
“W-who are you?” Charlotte stuttered. “What do you want?”
The figure stood still, staring at Charlotte from the dark.
Scared and confused, Charlotte spoke again. “Hello?”
The figure continued to stare at Charlotte.
Wait, why does this feel familiar? Didn’t she just do this? She saw the figure in the closet, walked over, and realized it was just a pile of clothes. That explains why she isn’t getting a response! There is no figure, it’s just her clothes! Not entirely satisfied with her realization, however, Charlotte made her way to the closet to prove to herself there was nobody there. It was all coming back so clearly now. Charlotte saw the figure, went to the closet, and turned on the light, then she moved the clothes out of the way.
…Then she moved the clothes out of the way…
The figure in front of her let out a deafening scream, and Charlotte woke up in her bed. She jolted up, nearly falling out of the bed, and stared at the closet, where there was nothing to be seen….

DAY: MAY 22 2024
5-22-2024

HOW RISKY IS TURBULENCE ON A PLANE? HOW WORRIED SHOULD I BE?

The Singapore Airlines turbulence incident that has sadly left one person dead and others hospitalized has made many of us think about the risks of air travel. We’ll hear more in coming days about how the aircraft came to drop so suddenly on its route from London to Singapore earlier this week, injuring passengers and crew, before making an emergency landing in Thailand. But thankfully, these types of incidents are rare, and much less-common than injuries from other types of transport. So why do we sometimes think the risk of
5-22-2024

WHAT FACTORS PREDICT WHEN OLDER ADULTS WILL STOP DRIVING?

What factors lead older adults to stop driving? A new study followed older adults who had no memory or thinking problems to examine this question. The study is published in the May 22 online issue of Neurology. “Alzheimer’s disease develops over a long time—people may have a 10- to 15-year period where they have no symptoms, but the disease process is developing in the brain,”
5-22-2024

EATING MORE ULTRA-PROCESSED FOODS TIED TO COGNITIVE DECLINE, STROKE

People who eat more ultra-processed foods like soft drinks, chips and cookies may have a higher risk of having memory and thinking problems and having a stroke than those who eat fewer processed foods, according to a new study. The study does not prove that eating ultra-processed foods causes memory and thinking problems and stroke. It only shows an association. Ultra-processed foods are high in added sugar, fat and salt, and low in protein and fiber.
5-22-2024

STUDY REVEALS ALARMING LEVELS OF DRUG RESIDUE ON US CURRENCY

A new study led by Thomas Jefferson University researchers has found that American currency carries much more than germs on its surface. The study used a new method of analysis to examine one-dollar bills collected from 13 cities across the U.S. Fentanyl, a potent opioid, was detected on 63% of the bills, shedding light on the widespread presence of this dangerous substance in everyday transactions.
5-22-2024

RESEARCH TEAM IDENTIFIES A NEW WAY TO TREAT PROSTATE CANCER

Active Stat5 increases protein levels of full-length androgen receptor (AR-FL) and AR variants (AR-Vs) through the induction of AR mRNA levels in PC. The American Cancer Society estimates there are nearly 300,000 new cases of prostate cancer every year in the U.S., and approximately one in eight men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime. Prostate cancer is often treated with androgen deprivation therapy, which lowers testosterone levels to shrink tumors. However, this treatment has side effects including sexual dysfunction and weight
5-22-2024

BRAIN IMPLANT IN CONJUNCTION WITH AI APP ALLOWS NEARLY MUTE MAN TO SPEAK IN TWO LANGUAGES

Schematic diagram of the bilingual decoding system. In each trial, the participant is presented with a target phrase in English or Spanish. The participant volitionally activates the system by attempting to speak, and this attempt is identified from the neural features by a speech-detection model. A team of neurosurgeons and AI specialists at the University of California, San Francisco, has found some success in restoring speech to a patient who lost the ability after a stroke.
5-22-2024

A DEADLY NEW RISK FOR OVERDOSE

Fentanyl, typically sold in compressed powder chunks, (and a few methamphetamine shards) and the materials commonly used to consume them via inhalation. Now that smoking has replaced injecting as the most common way to consume fentanyl, UCSF researchers have uncovered an increased risk of fatal overdose from the residue that accumulates in smoking equipment. The researchers found that people both shared fentanyl resin and consumed it accidentally. This may be increasing the risk of overdose, especially among those who use
5-22-2024

WEARABLE ULTRASOUND PATCH ENABLES CONTINUOUS, NON-INVASIVE MONITORING OF CEREBRAL BLOOD FLOW

This soft and stretchy ultrasound patch can be worn on the temple to provide continuous monitoring of blood flow in the brain. During use, the patch is connected through cables to a power source and computer. Engineers at the University of California San Diego have developed a wearable ultrasound patch that can offer continuous, non-invasive monitoring of blood flow in the brain. The soft and stretchy patch can be comfortably worn on the temple to provide three-dimensional data on cerebral blood
5-22-2024

HIGH BMI LINKED TO REDUCED BRAIN VOLUME AND INCREASED WHITE MATTER LESIONS

A recent study published in Health Data Science reveals the significant impact of high cumulative body mass index (BMI) on brain health. The research, led by Associate Professor Han Lv from Beijing Friendship Hospital, Capital Medical University, found that high BMI is associated with smaller brain volume, larger white matter lesions, and abnormal microstructural integrity. The study analyzed data from a 16-year population-based cohort to investigate the effects of cumulative BMI on neuroimaging features in adults
5-22-2024

STUDY FINDS NEW METHOD FOR DIAGNOSING SLEEP DISORDERS IN CHILDREN

Research at the University of Oklahoma, in collaboration with The University of Tulsa, has resulted in a new method of screening for sleep disorders in children. The tool, the first of its kind, allows health professionals to assess children for multiple sleep problems at once, resulting in a quicker evaluation and more targeted treatment recommendations. The research that created the tool, called a structured clinical interview, was published recently in the journal Behavioral Sleep Medicine. The publication details the effectiveness of the interview questions across several types of sleep disorders,
5-22-2024

DOGS PLAY A KEY ROLE IN VETERINARY COLLEGE’S BRAIN CANCER TRIAL

Lucy, with her boundless puppy-like energy even at 12 years old, is more than just a pet to Susan Ketcham. She’s now part of a research project that could transform the way we treat brain cancer—in both dogs and humans. This study at Virginia Tech’s Virginia-Maryland College of Veterinary Medicine explores an innovative therapy called histotripsy. It’s a leap forward from traditional cancer treatments, harnessing the power of focused ultrasound to break
5-22-2024

NEW STUDY SHOWS HOW CANCER CELLS EXPLOIT THE IMMUNE SYSTEM

New research has discovered an important breakthrough that may overcome cancer treatment resistance. The immune system has a naturally occurring ‘brake’ that tells the body to silence key killer immune cells called CD8+ T-cells as a safeguard to restrain excessive immune responses. Cancer cells are known to exploit this process, called exhaustion, by hijacking the immune system at this ‘off-switch’ to dampen down the immune attack on cancer, enabling cancer growth.
5-22-2024

STUDY FINDS ULTRAVIOLET RADIATION MAY AFFECT SUBCUTANEOUS FAT REGULATION, COULD LEAD TO NEW OBESITY TREATMENTS

The radiation enhances norepinephrine secretion, which not only decreases leptin thereby increasing food intake, but also increases energy expenditure through the browning of subcutaneous fat. Obesity and metabolic disorders are increasingly significant global public health issues. In a novel study, a team of dermatologists has evaluated the effect of ultraviolet (UV) exposure on appetite and weight regulation. They found that UV exposure raises norepinephrine levels, decreases leptin levels, and induces the browning of subcutaneous fat, thereby increasing energy expenditure. These results potentially pave the way
5-22-2024

NEW BIOMARKERS FOUND TO PREDICT KIDNEY FAILURE IN TYPE 1 DIABETES PATIENTS

In a paper published in Science Translational Medicine, researchers from City of Hope, a U.S. cancer research and treatment organization and a research center for diabetes and other life-threatening illnesses, report that they have discovered advances in predicting kidney failure in type 1 diabetes (T1D) patients. By performing the first epigenome-wide association analysis in patients with diabetic kidney disease, a research team has identified novel associations between DNA methylation activity—a biological
5-22-2024

SOME PATIENTS TAKE SECOND AT-HOME FECAL TEST TO DELAY COLONOSCOPY

A study of 316,443 patients shows that 7.4% of these patients repeated fecal testing rather than proceeding directly to colonoscopy as guidelines recommend, and of those who repeated home tests, over half did not have a colonoscopy within 1 year. The work is published in the Journal of General Internal Medicine. The study showed that among repeat testers, only 41% went on to receive a colonoscopy within one year of their initial positive fecal test. To learn more, researchers interviewed patients who had been tested twice rather than go in
5-22-2024

YOUNG PEOPLE ARE INCREASINGLY USING WEGOVY AND OZEMPIC, STUDY FINDS

Public interest in weight loss drugs like Wegovy and Ozempic is surging, but national data on dispensing patterns in the United States is surprisingly scarce. Now, a national study from Michigan Medicine shows that the use of these weight loss drugs is increasing rapidly in adolescents and young adults aged 12–25 years, especially females. Using 2020–2023 data from a national database representing 92% of pharmacies, the study team found a 594% increase in the monthly number of adolescents and young adults
5-22-2024

STUDY ANALYZES THE IMPACT OF SUMMER HEAT ON HOSPITAL ADMISSIONS IN SPAIN

A research team has carried out an analysis of hospital admissions related to high summer temperatures in Spain over more than a decade. The study concludes that the causes of hospitalization in which the heat has the most notable impact are: Metabolic disorders and obesity Renal failure Urinary tract infection Sepsis Urolithiasis Poisoning by drugs and other non-medicinal substances The research included data of more than 11.2 million
5-22-2024

NEWBORNS WHOSE MOTHER SPOKE IN A MIX OF LANGUAGES DURING PREGNANCY ARE MORE SENSITIVE TO A RANGE OF SOUND PITCHES

It’s well established that babies in the womb hear and learn about speech, at least in the third trimester. For example, newborns have been shown to already prefer the voice of their mother, recognize a story that had been repeatedly told to them while in the womb, and tell apart their mother’s native language. What wasn’t known until now was how developing fetuses learn about speech when their mother speaks to them in a mix of languages. Yet this is common: there are 3.3 billion bilingual people (43% of the
5-22-2024

RESEARCHERS DISCUSSES 25-YEAR STUDY THAT SHOWS MOTHERS’ EMPATHY FOR TEENS MAY PREDICT TEENS’ EMPATHY

A new Child Development study from researchers at the University of Virginia provides the first long-term, longitudinal evidence for the transmission of empathic care across three generations: from mother to teen to child. The findings suggest that interactions with close friends in adolescence may provide a “training ground” in which teens can practice providing care in their peer relationships and pay forward the empathy they experience from their mothers, which may help strengthen their future parenting skills. For families and service providers, supporting one generation of parents to model empathy
5-22-2024

SCIENTISTS CREATE TAILORED DRUG FOR AGGRESSIVE BREAST CANCER

Scientists have used breast cancer cells’ weakness against themselves by linking a tumor-selective antibody with a cell-killing drug to destroy hard-to-treat tumors. The research, published in Clinical Cancer Research by a team from King’s College London, marks a new method in cancer treatment. The discovery is particular to triple negative breast cancer, which makes up 15% of all diagnosed breast cancer. This type of breast cancer is typically aggressive, resistant to chemotherapy, has a lower survival rate and is more common in women under 40. Usual treatment involves surgery, chemotherapy
5-22-2024

URBAN GARDENING MAY IMPROVE HUMAN HEALTH—RESEARCH SUBJECTS BENEFIT FROM MICROBIAL EXPOSURE

It’s easy to start growing in pots indoors in spring when the weather is still cool, and then move out e.g. onto the balcony when the weather warms up. Either way, you don’t need much space. A collaborative study between the University of Helsinki, Natural Resources Institute Finland and Tampere University demonstrated that a one-month indoor gardening period increased the bacterial diversity of the skin and was associated with higher levels of anti-inflammatory molecules in the blood.
5-22-2024

DAILY MARIJUANA USE OUTPACES DAILY DRINKING IN THE US, A NEW STUDY SAYS

Daily and near-daily marijuana use is now more common than similar levels of high-frequency drinking in the U.S., according to an analysis of survey data over four decades . Millions of people in the U.S. report using marijuana daily or nearly every day, according to an analysis of national survey data, and those people now outnumber those
5-22-2024

GENITAL TALC USE POSITIVELY LINKED TO OVARIAN CANCER

There is a positive association between use of intimate care products, including genital talc, and ovarian cancer, according to a study examined the association between intimate care products and female hormone-related cancers using data from a U.S.-based cohort study enrolling 50,884 women who had a sister with breast cancer. Data on genital talc use and douching were obtained at enrollment in 2003
5-22-2024

EPIDURAL LINKED TO REDUCTION IN SERIOUS COMPLICATIONS AFTER CHILDBIRTH

Having an epidural during labor is associated with a marked reduction in serious complications in the first few weeks after giving birth, finds a study published by The BMJ. Doctors refer to these complications as severe maternal morbidity (SMM), which can include heart attack, heart failure, sepsis, and hysterectomy. Epidural analgesia is recommended for women with known risk factors for SMM, such as obesity, certain underlying conditions, or having more than one baby. These women are said to have a “medical indication” for epidural analgesia in labor. Women delivering prematurely

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• 5-22-2024EVIDENCE SUGGESTS LINK BETWEEN TEEN CANNABIS USE AND PSYCHOTIC DISORDERS MAY BE STRONGER THAN PREVIOUSLY THOUGHT

Hey everyone I, 24 F, just wanted to hop on here and say I’ve been doing so much better and maybe give anyone some hope that reoccurring severe panic attacks do get better.
I’ve been struggling with severe panic attacks (1-6 hours long, typically on the longer side), that cause constant vomiting/dry heaving, intense muscle shakes, hyperventilating, and sometimes I’d end up at the hospital. I did experience this years ago and somehow some what they just disappeared. Then, this past September, I had a wild night out and ended up drinking a few vodka redbulls (for contexts I never drink energy drinks cause they make me anxious). The next day I was extremely hungover and I think the excessive alcohol and energy drink combo made my heart feel like it was beating out of my chest and all the sudden I was having the first panic attack I’ve had since they disappeared almost 4 years ago. It was horrible, I felt like I remembered what the sensation was and that it was happening again. From September untill April I had been having a panic attack every week to 2 weeks, canceling on plans with friends, family, my boyfriend, and just being so closed off and scared of anything triggering it.
I tried a few different medications, somewhat reluctantly because I beat it without meds once, I wanted to do it again. None of them worked, and only made symptoms worse for me(Hydroxyzine, trazadone, sertaline, buspirine). When i tried the sertaline buspirine combo, I ended up having severe side effects that landed me in the hospital (nausea, dizziness, confusion, hot flashes, drowsiness, fainting), and looking back I can barely remember that day. I was so incredibly scared of the what was happening I actually thought I might be in trouble/my life was at risk.
It was an extremely low blow, those meds were my “last hope” at the time and I felt like nothing would work. HOWEVER, I think that experience changed the way I thought about panic attacks. Now, I tell myself “I will never be as scared as I was that day, I do not have horrible side effects from any medication because I don’t take any, and this will all pass. I am in no real danger” and I think the only reason I actually believe it now is because I felt real fear. It’s now been 47 days without a panic attack, almost 7 weeks. I also found a new therapist who gives me worksheets on working through thoughts about panic and I’m working on accepting them. I know it’s so so hard, I’m still struggling and I do get the feeling one is coming on occasionally. I just have to keep telling myself “it’s okay, you’ll get through it like you always do”. And ACCEPT that it could be coming on, and that you will probably get one again in the future and that’s okay! It doesn’t have to be so detrimental on your life, it can be a flare up and that’s all.
I know this hasn’t really had much advice and not many people are probably going to have a life or death feeling experience like I did but the thought process I go through now has helped so much, in addition to finding a therapist that gives me actual tools to mitigate those feelings and “battle” the thoughts that cause some of mine.
I also just wanted to let people know it gets better! Mine was so severe and really fucked up my life for a good 8 months and I finally feel like I’ll be okay.
I believe in everyone here, you guys got this, work on acceptance and it will combat the fear and anxiety causing these.

I’m in the middle of doing pre reqs and I think I’ve found a method that sort of works for me.
I’m adopting a strategy where I am going in the chapters for the pre reqs and writing out the chapter objectives as a long sort of study guide on Google word docs. I turn them into questions and answering them almost like a lab worksheet.
I’ll mostly watch YouTube videos to cover topics which I hope will equate to lectures in nursing school.
I then turn those into flash cards on Quizlet so I can repeat them to remember them better and that way I can review and study on the go.
Whatever I don’t seem to remember well I revisit and supplement with reading or more videos and add to my notes.
It seems this method has been working well for me. Mind you my classes are online and self paced with no guidance from a teacher at all.
I also make word documents with images of important diagrams like the anatomical position, structures of cells or locations and names of bones for topics that are more about memorization rather than understanding concepts.
I am a very visual learner so having these on hand to review in case I forget the anatomical term for the hollow back of the knee or something or which cranial nerve does what helps me a lot.
I currently use this method for myself at my job as a medical technician and it’s helping things to stick. Repetition repetition repetition!

Jake, my 11-year-old son, blindsided me one day when he asked if we could go camping. I nearly spit out my lukewarm coffee in surprise—this was coming from the same kid who complained about the sun’s brightness at soccer practice and whined about mosquitoes at night! So when he suddenly expressed interest in camping, I couldn’t help but chuckle. It was such a far cry from his usual pastime of being glued to anything with a screen.
We were hanging out by my truck one morning, talking about school, when Jake first mentioned camping. He nudged a pebble along the dry road, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Hey Dad,” he began hesitantly, “think we could go camping sometime?”
I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. Apparently Jake's friend Daniel had been endlessly bragging about a camping trip he went on with his dad, making the great outdoors suddenly irresistible to my screen-obsessed son.
“Camping, huh?” I said, trying to contain my excitement. “Sounds great, but you know, it’s not all fireflies and s’mores. There’s bugs, for one thing. Lots of ‘em.”
Jake grimaced, his enthusiasm briefly dimming. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled, kicking at the dirt with his sneakers.
I gave him a playful nudge. “If the weather holds, maybe we can just find a good spot by the lake next weekend. Just you and me. You up for it?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
His response to the lake idea didn’t seem genuine. A subtle shrug and a glimmer of disappointment in his eyes revealed his desire for a more immersive experience—one that involved tents, campfires, and a genuine escape into nature. Merely visiting the lake wouldn't cut it. Only a true camping trip would satisfy him.
Truth be told, I hadn’t been camping in years. Fond memories of childhood fishing trips and backyard campouts with my own dad felt like a lifetime ago. Work had a way of taking over, and lately, it had been consuming more than its fair share.
But after listening to Jake’s retelling of Daniel’s camping trip story, it had stirred something in me—a friendly rivalry. I was suddenly determined to one-up Daniel and his dad, to make sure my boy had the camping trip of a lifetime.
A grin spread wide across my face as I promised Jake, “Yeah you know what Jake? We’re gonna go camping, and it’s going to be the best camping trip ever! As soon as I can take a break from work, we’ll go.”
Jake’s excitement was contagious. He jumped up and down with joy, and I couldn’t help but laugh. It hit me then that I probably should’ve introduced him to camping sooner.
“Thank you, Dad!” he shouted, his voice ringing with gratitude. “Thank you, Dad! Thank youuuu!”
I gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Alright, champ, let’s simmer down a bit,” I chuckled. “Head inside and get started on your homework. We don’t want Mom holding this over our heads,” I added with a wink. Jake nodded eagerly and practically skipped into the house, leaving me with a warm sense of fatherly pride.
The weeks flew by, and I finally managed to snag some time off work. In the evenings, I’d pore over articles and videos on wilderness survival and the delicate art of s’more making. My childhood camping memories were more fuzzy nostalgia than concrete know-how, and I couldn’t let my lack of experience show—not in front of Jake, and certainly not in front of that Daniel.
Meanwhile, my ever-supportive wife, Sarah, decided to forgo the mosquitoes and campfire smoke for the comfort of our home. She said it was ‘girl time’ with a good book and a long bath, but I couldn’t help but sense a hint of amusement in her eyes. “Traitor!” I’d jokingly tease, reminding her of our grand mission to outshine Daniel and his dad’s camping trip. She’d just laugh and say, “Go conquer the wilderness, honey. I’ll be here holding down the fort.”
It was true that Sarah wasn’t exactly an outdoors enthusiast. She enjoyed a leisurely stroll in the park, but multi-day camping trips weren’t her cup of tea. Still, I knew she secretly loved seeing Jake and me bond, and deep down, I hoped this ‘man vs. wild’ adventure might reignite my own forgotten love for the outdoors.
My mission? Mastering the art of building a fire that wouldn’t leave us all choking on smoke, identifying constellations for Jake (hoping I wouldn’t mix up Orion with the Big Dipper), and maybe even catching a fish or two (although, based on my past fishing experiences, that might be the biggest challenge of all). It was time to put my crash course in wilderness survival to the test and create an unforgettable camping trip for Jake—one that even Daniel and his dad couldn’t top.
At last, the weekend we’d been waiting for arrived. That Friday, as I picked Jake up from school, excitement buzzed through the car as we pulled into the driveway. The moment we stepped through the front door, Jake’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of the camping gear I had meticulously (or so I thought) laid out for him like a treasure trove for an intrepid explorer. The living room had transformed into a chaotic staging ground for our trip.
A giant, green tent bag rested at his feet, while two mismatched sleeping bags—one a vivid orange, the other in subdued camouflage—leaned precariously against the table. Beside two overstuffed backpacks, I’d proudly displayed a bounty of “rations”—mostly marshmallows, chocolate bars, and enough instant ramen to feed a small army.
“Ready to conquer the wild with me?” I asked.
Jake didn’t disappoint. His eyes sparkled with an unspoken thrill that seemed to shout: “I can’t wait to tell Daniel I went camping too!”
With the car packed to the brim and threatening to keel over at any sharp turn, Sarah pulled me aside just before we left. Her usually bright and playful eyes held a seriousness that cut through my usual humor. “Please, be careful out there,” she said, her voice tinged with worry.
I knew this wasn’t the moment for jokes. Squeezing her hand, I gave her a reassuring nod. “We’ll be fine,” I promised, hoping my confident smile would hide any lingering anxieties about my own lack of camping expertise.
Jake and I settled into the car, the engine rumbling with the promise of adventure. Determined to make Daniel and his dad’s Crystal Lake camping trip look like a backyard picnic, I’d scoured maps and forums for the perfect spot. Jake had mentioned that Daniel and his father had gone camping at the Crystal Lake campgrounds, conveniently close to our town.
“Crystal Lake?” I teased, as if it were the last place any self-respecting outdoorsman would pitch a tent. “We’re going somewhere way better,” I added with a wink. Our destination was Whisperwood Forest, a hidden camping ground three hours north.
As the miles stretched before us, Jake peppered me with questions, his enthusiasm keeping the energy high. “Are there bears in Whisperwood?” he asked, eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.
“Maybe,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though a flicker of unease ran through me—the forums did mention some black bear sightings. “But that’s why we have all this camping gear, right? To be prepared for anything.”
Jake’s questions ranged from the practical (“Will there be a bathroom?”) to the fantastical (“Do you think we’ll see Bigfoot?”). By the time the landscape outside our window blurred into a patchwork of greens and browns, his voice had grown hoarse, and a peaceful silence settled over the car.
We veered off the main road, following the rhythm of a narrow dirt path snaking through the dense forest. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the thick canopy overhead, casting long, dancing shadows on the dusty track.
The air hung heavy with the earthy scent of damp moss and decaying leaves, punctuated by the occasional chirp of an unseen bird. With every bend and dip, the car swayed alongside us, its tires crunching on loose gravel. I caught a glimpse of Jake in the rearview mirror, his head bobbing with every bump, his eyes wide with anticipation and fixed on the passing scenery.
After about 20 minutes, we emerged into a small clearing, the sudden brightness of unfiltered sunlight momentarily blinding me. As my eyes adjusted, I took in the scene. The clearing was modest in size, about the size of a tennis court. In its center stood a gnarled oak, its branches reaching out like skeletal arms. An eerie silence enveloped the area, interrupted only by the rustle of leaves in the still air.
I brought the car to a gentle stop, the engine sighing softly as it died. Jake’s eyes sparkled with anticipation as he looked over at me. “Ready?” I asked, my voice echoing in the sudden stillness. His nod was eager and swift.
As I stepped out, my joints popped like distant firecrackers. I retrieved our backpacks from the trunk and hoisted the tent onto my shoulder, its weight familiar and grounding.
I let Jake take the lead as we scouted for a camping spot. I knew it was important for him to feel like the captain of our adventure, the leader of our expedition. Watching his determined strides and furrowed brow as he surveyed the land like a seasoned explorer was hilarious. Eventually, we found a suitable spot—or rather, my son did—tucked away from the car and hidden by thick underbrush.
Sunlight danced through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on a carpet of moss and ferns. Nearby, a crystal-clear stream burbled, its melody harmonizing with the chirping symphony of unseen insects. It was a secluded paradise, the perfect refuge for me and my son, nestled away from the world within the forest's embrace.
With a proud grin, Jake declared our campsite found. While he scampered off to explore the nearby stream, I tackled the seemingly straightforward task of pitching the tent. However, the instructions were akin to cryptic hieroglyphs, filled with diagrams resembling abstract art and terminology that would challenge even a seasoned scholar.
Twenty minutes later, after much head-scratching and muttered curses, the tent stood—albeit with a noticeable lean to one side.
"Behold!" I announced, trying to hide the beads of sweat gathering on my forehead.
Jake, ever the diplomat, simply grinned. “Coolest tent ever, Dad!”
As we unrolled our sleeping bags inside the tent, I sent Jake on a mission to gather sticks for our fire. He scampered off into the undergrowth while I patrolled the edge of the woods, collecting stray logs to bolster our firewood stash. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a figure peeking from behind a tree, but dismissed it as a trick of the fading light.
Igniting a fire, often portrayed in movies with a single dramatic swipe of a flint, turned into a comedic ballet of fumbled matches and stubborn kindling. My attempts at channeling my inner caveman were met with sputtering defiance from the damp sticks. After twenty minutes of frustration, I surrendered to the ease of modern technology and pulled a lighter from my backpack. As if sensing my defeat, the fire roared to life with a satisfying crackle.
I called Jake back, and together we roasted marshmallows under the shifting hues of the evening sky. As the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with fiery shades of orange and red, we shared stories and laughter, leaving behind the worries of city life for the simple joy of being together in the wild.
As the clock neared 9:00 PM, exhaustion settled over us like a warm blanket. Jake, his eyelids drooping like weighted curtains, readily agreed it was bedtime. I subdued the fire with a few nudges from my boot, but instead of fading completely, the embers seemed to pulse with an unnatural inner light, casting dancing shadows across the forest floor.
The usual nighttime sounds of crickets and rustling leaves took on an unsettling tone. A distant howl pierced the silence, long and mournful, similar to an owl's call yet somehow different from any I'd heard before. A chill ran down my spine, prompting me to pull Jake closer and tuck him snugly into his sleeping bag. “Just an owl, champ,” I reassured him, trying to sound confident despite my unease.
My voice echoed strangely inside the tent, adding to the eerie atmosphere, but Jake, already drifting off to sleep, remained unfazed.
Before I knew it, my eyes had closed, and I'd drifted off. It felt like no time had passed before a soft nudge at my shoulder stirred me awake. Squinting in the dark, I made out Jake sitting bolt upright, looking at me.
“What's wrong?” I mumbled, my voice heavy with sleep.
“Shh,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “There's something outside.”
Half-asleep, I assured him it was probably just a squirrel or a similar creature and encouraged him to try and sleep.
I turned onto my side, seeking the comforting embrace of sleep once more. But before it could claim me again, I heard it—a sequence of sounds distinct from the forest's usual symphony. Footsteps—deliberate and measured footsteps—circled our tent.
These weren't the light steps of a deer or the clumsy thudding of a bear. There was no natural rhythm to them, no telltale snap of a twig. They were silent, calculated movements—two steps, a pause, two more steps, a pause—as if whatever lurked outside was deliberately trying to be quiet.
Two minutes stretched into an eternity before the pattern resumed: two deliberate steps, a pause, and then two more steps. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I propped myself up.
A glance at Jake confirmed he was still awake, his eyes wide with terror. In a hushed tone, I promised to investigate. He gave a small nod, and with a deep breath, I inched forward, my hand trembling as I unzipped the tent just a crack.
Peering through the gap, I found the darkness outside impenetrable, the only light source being the faint embers of our extinguished campfire. Squinting, I strained to see beyond the flickering red glow. For a heart-stopping moment, I thought I saw a figure near the tree line—a subtle shift in the shadows that seemed to move on silent feet. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, leaving me questioning my tired sanity.
Turning back to Jake, I forced a reassuring smile. “Everything's okay, champ. Go back to sleep.”
Whatever lurked outside wasn't any creature I recognized, and it showed no signs of leaving.
As we settled back into our sleeping bags, a sudden noise shattered the silence, jolting me awake. It wasn't the familiar rustle of leaves or the distant hoot of an owl. This was a sharp crack, a deep, resonant snap of a fallen branch—weighty and too close for comfort. A cold sweat instantly coated my skin. Whatever had caused that sound was heavy.
Quietly, I rose from my sleeping bag, the tent floor feeling small and exposed beneath me. Retrieving my flashlight, I unzipped the tent fully with deliberate care. The chilly night air rushed in, stealing my breath momentarily. With trembling hands, I switched on the flashlight and swept its beam across the surrounding woods.
The once-familiar trees now loomed ominously in the darkness. Shadows danced and twisted in the flickering light, playing tricks on my already rattled mind. I scanned the forest floor for any sign of the creature—a footprint, a snapped twig—but found nothing. Yet, just beyond the flashlight's reach, a glimmer caught my eye—a subtle movement, a flash of reflection. I focused the beam in that direction, my heart pounding, but saw only the swaying branches of a nearby pine.
Convinced the source of the noise was ahead of me, I had turned away from the tent. However, the sound of leaves crunching behind me shattered that assumption. Whirling around, I aimed the flashlight toward the tent, partially illuminating my son, who sat upright with a confused expression. Whatever had made the noise remained out of sight.
I had almost convinced myself it was merely a curious animal nosing around behind our tent. Just as I was about to dismiss the fear and retreat into the safety of the tent, ready to label the sounds as harmless, the source of the noise revealed itself—a moment that stretched my sanity thin. It stood up from behind the opposite end of the tent, where it had been hiding.
It? Or... Me?
Standing over the tent, partially bathed in the weak glow of my flashlight, it defied all logic and reason. Even as I stared directly at it, my mind struggled to accept what my eyes were seeing. It wasn't an animal, as I had initially assumed. It was... me.
I found myself locked in a gaze with... myself. It had my face, but it wasn’t me. Its limbs extended from misaligned joints at the shoulders, longer and more spindly than mine. Though humanoid in shape, its proportions were wrong, its limbs extending at unnatural angles. Clad in tattered clothes akin to my camping attire, its body seemed like a grotesque mirror image of my own.
The most unsettling part was its face. It mirrored mine in almost every detail, save for the eyes—voids of absolute blackness in place of my familiar brown eyes. When caught in the beam of my flashlight, those eyes revealed twin specks of light within the darkness, staring back at me with an unnerving intensity.
A single glance revealed its formidable strength, far surpassing my own. Its arms, thick with sinewy muscle, bore the unmistakable markings of a life lived in the wilderness. These were not the sculpted muscles of a gym-goer, but the rugged strength forged by the trials of nature itself—mountains climbed, rivers crossed, battles waged against the elements.
As its mouth contorted grotesquely across its face, the skin splitting like parched earth, a wet tearing filled the night air—an agonizing sound that sent a primal scream echoing through my mind. The chill of the night was now a distant memory, replaced by a fear so profound it threatened to immobilize me.
Suddenly, a voice pierced the silence—a small, vulnerable voice belonging to Jake, calling out from within the tent, asking if I could see anything. At the sound of his voice, the creature's attention shifted sharply toward the tent. It leaned in, drawn by Jake’s innocence. Its already unnaturally wide mouth stretched further, the lower jaw unhinging to an impossible length, revealing a menacing row of needle-like teeth.
The thing raised its elongated arm, which moved unnervingly stiff and jerky, like the movements of someone who hadn't felt flesh beneath their fingertips for years. I could see each joint crackle and pop as it extended its arm.
I was confused as to what it was doing, but then realization hit me. Instinct took over. I plunged my hands into the tent, grabbing Jake, and yanked him out with all my strength.
Yanking him from the tent, we stumbled out, the ground a sickening blur beneath my feet. We landed in a heap, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air as the creature tore through the tent like a child ripping through tissue paper. The metallic tang of blood, sharp and acrid, filled my nostrils. I covered Jake's mouth with my hand, feeling his tears against my skin. We lay there in silence, watching the thing eviscerate our tent.
Amidst the chaos, my bag was flung towards us. Recognizing it, I rummaged through it until my fingers closed around the car keys. Leaning close to Jake, I told him when I gave the signal, I wanted him to run for the car.
In the tense silence that followed the creature's assault, a distant noise momentarily captured its attention. Seizing the opportunity, I whispered to Jake, “Run!” We sprang up and bolted towards the car, the creature's piercing shriek chasing us from behind.
My lungs burned, my legs screamed in protest, but I pushed on, fueled by a primal urge to protect my son. Reaching the car, I fumbled with the keys, the creature's rasping breaths hot on my neck. With a satisfying click, the door unlocked. We tumbled inside, slamming the doors shut just as the creature lunged forward, its fingers scraping against the metal.
With trembling hands, I turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. In the dim light, I could see the creature standing mere inches from the car, its grotesque smile contorted in what seemed to be frustration. With a surge of adrenaline, I shifted into reverse, then spun the car around, tires churning the earth as we sped down the trail.
We didn't stop until we got home. Throughout the drive, Jake remained silent, his soft sobs a stark contrast to my own stifled emotions.
That night marked the end of our camping trips—it doesn't look like I’ll be beating Daniel and his dad’s camping trip, any time soon.

Hi, My husband was murdered May '23 and I finally got the autopsy last week. I'm having a hard time understanding a few things I'm hoping you could clarify.
First, I would like to state that I understand this is not in a professional capacity. Additionally: •There is no active investigation of my husband's murder. The perpetrator took his own life after killing my husband and another person. •I've emailed the Dr. who performed the exam and am awaiting their return from leave.
If it's okay for me to post a SS of the "evidence of injury" (?), what I'm wondering: 1. Are the injuries listed in any particular order? 2. How many times was he shot?! 3. Can I ask them for a diagram?
You would think I would have a police report to help fill these gaps but almost 13 months later, I do not.
Thank you, from the bottom of my broken heart.