World Navigation With Poor Memory Access
Aug. 5th, 2024 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeIt's Rawlin again. I wanted to post how I navigated this world with poor memory access, in case it's of interest to others (and for future reference to the others here).
When I came forward last week, for the first time since 2004, I didn't know where I was or what year it was, only that it had been a very long time. I presumed the room mine (theirs), and did my best to glean what details I could. It was dark outside, making the window an almost-mirror, allowing me to see that the body had aged and changed significantly. The paper calendar on the wall could tell me the month, but not the year. Thankfully, their journal was open nearby, and I checked the most recent date in it, which could at least tell me that it was the end of July 2024. A very long time.
I could have tried to access the others and ask them for the information, but they had requested I not speak to them, due to my past behavior. In the past, I had tried to manipulate circumstances to give myself an excuse to disregard that request, and I was determined not to do that again, even if it inconvenienced me. It was dark outside, presumably night, which meant I only had to hold on until bedtime, in which case hopefully sleep would reset things. (It did. If it hadn't, I would've been in much deeper trouble.)
I did, however, have one person to ask: the body. It is an independent source of intelligence, though radically different than ours. It cannot speak or use language, but it has a good muscle memory and I knew how to ask it things. It could at least guide me nonlinguistically. I also had never harmed it (as far as I know) so it had no reason to fear or distrust me. It recognized me as of its bloodline. I turned to it, and it pulled me to the "little book" the others made, a little light green book on the shelf labeled "LB's Guide to Life." I dived on it. On the first page was "in crisis? Go to page 8! And 118!" so I went there.
Page 8 had "Reminders In Bad Times" which told me not to hurt myself (not an issue) and that "folks are rooting for you! You're not alone! You're not poison!" which I had reason to doubt. There was also a list of names to call (but no phone numbers--Rogan added them after this).
I did not want to talk or call anyone. But the book said, "Don't hide from people! Reach out!" The last two words had been underlined three times, so clearly it was important (and a problem for others here in the past). I found myself resentful that this book knew how I felt, even though we had never met.
Pg. 118 was not useful for my situation, a crisis diagnostic for times of intense madness. I was upset, but not mad. I knew who I was, I could see headspace, and I probably could reach the others but shouldn't. I could certainly think questions and feel emotions. I was thinking and feeling a lot of them right then.
I flipped through the book but there was a lot, too much for me to take in, so finally I accepted necessity and decided to contact three people on the list. I turned to the body again, which knew the phone was in our pocket, and also knew how to text and access the address book. I chose the three that the body pulled me towards, and I texted the following at 9:05 PM: "Hello. My name is Rawlin and i am not supposed to be out and could use guidance. Do you know who i am?" I felt like a fool.
marzicastella was the one who responded first, nigh-instantly: "Yes, I do! Would you like a phone call so I can try to help out?"
"Oh thank god. Yes. Okay."
She called me with her wife. She explained to me that I was in Boston (a city I knew nothing about), that I had roommates (of whom I knew nothing and desperately wanted to avoid), that there had been a major pandemic (which I did know of) and that I needed to wear a mask in common spaces (I could see the masks hanging right by the door, unmissable). She also said that there was a cat. (The cat came in and out repeatedly and seemed unconcerned with me, which was comforting.) She gave me the same crisis diagnostic that had been on pg. 118, and once assured of my lucidity, dug out a crisis plan that the others had apparently given her in the past. This unfortunately did not have up-to-date information about my roommates, but I wanted to avoid them anyway.
The little book mentioned medication, but not what or how much. (This has since been rectified.) I found pill bottles in the room with the body's name on it, andmarzicastella was able to tell me what they were, but the dosage was unclear. On the pill bottle and in the crisis plan, it said to take one pill; a card in the wallet said to take one-half, but the pill-cutter in the bathroom had a quarter-pill in it. Stymied, Grimm suggested I follow the card in the wallet, which I did, and this was apparently correct, had the others not seen fit to raise their medication temporarily in the months prior to my coming out. The normal dose would do no harm, at least.
The crisis plan had no advice as to the cat, which Grimm said the others had been taking care of while the roommate was away. It didn't seem to be asking for food, so I hoped that it would be all right. (I later learned that the cat's human had returned just a couple days prior. It was fine.) I couldn't tell if the body had eaten (it had not, I later learned), but I wasn't hungry so let it be.
Atmarzicastella's suggestion, I wrote notes in the journal, which I left open in a prominent location for whoever woke up.
After finishing the call, I found that one of the other friends had responded to my text in the interim. I explained things and they offered their support up until 5am. (Strange sleeper, apparently.) I decided to shower, brush my teeth, and go to bed, but there were many things in the bathroom and I had no idea which was mine. I counted the bars of soap in the shower to divine that probably four human beings, including us, lived in this place. I turned to the body, hoped the objects it pulled me towards were mine, but was able to find comfort in a box of bathroom things that contained the same pills (with the same name) as the ones in the bedroom. I therefore felt safe presuming that toothbrush and toothpaste were mine. Shampoo and soap, I had to ask the body and hope for the best. (It guided me true, thankfully.) There were also skin creams; the body pulled me towards one in particular, and the body had a rash that hadn't been as well taken care of as I would've liked, so I took care of it.
Back in their room, I looked through drawers, to see if there was anything useful. The laptop that was awake, I shut down, unable to concentrate on the task they'd been doing before I was thrown up. There was a slab of glass in one drawer that the body told me was a phone, though not like I had ever seen. Curious, I pushed the one button on it, got a password request, and put it back; the body could not tell me things like passwords. (Later, the others wrote down such passwords and put them in a place I could easily find them.)
The bed and bedding were in clear view, and I didn't need the body to know to roll out the mattress and put myself to bed. The window air conditioner was on, but I'd never dealt with one before and decided to just not touch it. I searched the bookshelf for something familiar--there were many, many books, all unfamiliar except for two or three. I chose one of the only authors whose name I recognized, discovered it was an omnibus I had already read, just with a different title, and settled in with that. I hoped the familiarity would calm me and get me to sleep. The body also helpfully directed me towards a tiny digital music player with some strange relaxation audio, which was peculiar but did work. (It also thankfully was extremely easy to use: I pushed two buttons and it played by itself. Very convenient, since I'd never seen such a thing before.)
I woke up multiple times throughout the night, including due to hunger. Frustrated and annoyed, I turned to the body and it led me to a shelf and food I could barely see in the dark. (I have since thankfully learned it was indeed our food.) I grabbed the first thing I saw (a biscuit), wolfed it, and that was enough to get the stomach to leave me alone. Every time I woke, I hoped it wouldn't be me anymore, only to be annoyed to discover I was still there. Rogan finally was pulled back around 4AM, much to my relief.
Though I was out of sorts at the time, there were a number of things that were immensely helpful to my navigation, which I want to note here as well. Obviously, having people to call was very helpful. Betweenmarzicastella and the little book, I feel things were handled well enough, which is good since this is apparently the first time my situation has happened here, at least in the body's adulthood. That they had created measures to minimize the chaos, and that they worked this well despite the novelty, is impressive to me, now that I've calmed down.
The body was already equipped with phone, wallet, and keys in its pockets, so I was able to quickly search the pockets for information. The wallet was stuffed with an overwhelming number of cards, including things I had no way of understanding at the time (vaccination record, food stamps card), but among those cards were information about our address (though outdated, apparently this body moved recently), doctors (and their phone numbers), and the medication I was supposed to take. I have also just been informed that there was a crisis one-page thing in the wallet that would've told me the things I needed to know, but it was in a back pocket, out of view, so I didn't see it. I have since updated it and moved it to the card pockets, so it's in plain view the moment anyone opens the wallet.
I have also just been informed that the phone had emergency information on it, but that was a feature added to phones after my original tenure, so I had no way to know that or think of it. (We updated it but it's very clunky. I doubt anyone will ever use it.) Nevertheless, that there was a one-pager AND the phone AND the book AND people to call, multiple layers of redundancy, made it more likely I would stumble upon ONE of them.
I also checked the desk I had found the body working at upon my arrival. The computer had all sorts of files, so I didn't even bother trying to dig through them, just saved what was up and shut it down.There was a piece of paper covered in different handwritings and web addresses, which I disregarded as irrelevant, but there was also a work in progress, apparently an introduction to the people here, which I found immensely helpful as to what OTHER people thought or were supposed to know of us. I have requested that work be finished and clipped to the little book.
The room had also been arranged to minimize my necessity for common memory. (I later learned this was the doing of one person here in particular, Biff.) (Rogan has also just explained to me that there is a book about this that they learned from, The Psychology of Everyday Things by Donald A. Norman. He also rushes to tell me later editions are called the Design of Everyday Things. Chapter 3, at least of the old version we have, is called "Knowledge In The Head And In The World" and there are copious handwritten notes in it. Clearly I have benefited from this.)
The pandemic masks (which I would NOT have known to wear, if not for the work formarzicastella) were hanging right next to the doorknob so I couldn't leave the room without seeing them. This helped to remind me every time I did. Drawers and shelves were clearly labeled as to their contents, and almost nothing was hidden from plain view. This made it easier for me to search and find things. The little book was in a conspicuous place with its title on the spine, so even without the body's help, I probably would've eventually found it. (And I have now added CHECK ME in chalk on the shelf under it.) Furniture was plain wood or blackboard painted so that labeling with chalk is both easy and temporary.
Since my accidental surfacing, measures have been taken to prevent my confusion in the future. The little book has been updated with the details of our meal plan, medication, and phone numbers of emergency contacts; the crisis plan Grimm and others have will be updated soon. All the kitchen cabinets have been labeled, and the bathroom box. Food has been labeled. Most of the desks' cubbies and drawers were already labeled with chalk; they similarly labeled all the shelves of the bookcases.
I've been told that this will probably end up in a proper essay at some point. These are just my notes for now.
When I came forward last week, for the first time since 2004, I didn't know where I was or what year it was, only that it had been a very long time. I presumed the room mine (theirs), and did my best to glean what details I could. It was dark outside, making the window an almost-mirror, allowing me to see that the body had aged and changed significantly. The paper calendar on the wall could tell me the month, but not the year. Thankfully, their journal was open nearby, and I checked the most recent date in it, which could at least tell me that it was the end of July 2024. A very long time.
I could have tried to access the others and ask them for the information, but they had requested I not speak to them, due to my past behavior. In the past, I had tried to manipulate circumstances to give myself an excuse to disregard that request, and I was determined not to do that again, even if it inconvenienced me. It was dark outside, presumably night, which meant I only had to hold on until bedtime, in which case hopefully sleep would reset things. (It did. If it hadn't, I would've been in much deeper trouble.)
I did, however, have one person to ask: the body. It is an independent source of intelligence, though radically different than ours. It cannot speak or use language, but it has a good muscle memory and I knew how to ask it things. It could at least guide me nonlinguistically. I also had never harmed it (as far as I know) so it had no reason to fear or distrust me. It recognized me as of its bloodline. I turned to it, and it pulled me to the "little book" the others made, a little light green book on the shelf labeled "LB's Guide to Life." I dived on it. On the first page was "in crisis? Go to page 8! And 118!" so I went there.
Page 8 had "Reminders In Bad Times" which told me not to hurt myself (not an issue) and that "folks are rooting for you! You're not alone! You're not poison!" which I had reason to doubt. There was also a list of names to call (but no phone numbers--Rogan added them after this).
I did not want to talk or call anyone. But the book said, "Don't hide from people! Reach out!" The last two words had been underlined three times, so clearly it was important (and a problem for others here in the past). I found myself resentful that this book knew how I felt, even though we had never met.
Pg. 118 was not useful for my situation, a crisis diagnostic for times of intense madness. I was upset, but not mad. I knew who I was, I could see headspace, and I probably could reach the others but shouldn't. I could certainly think questions and feel emotions. I was thinking and feeling a lot of them right then.
I flipped through the book but there was a lot, too much for me to take in, so finally I accepted necessity and decided to contact three people on the list. I turned to the body again, which knew the phone was in our pocket, and also knew how to text and access the address book. I chose the three that the body pulled me towards, and I texted the following at 9:05 PM: "Hello. My name is Rawlin and i am not supposed to be out and could use guidance. Do you know who i am?" I felt like a fool.
marzicastella was the one who responded first, nigh-instantly: "Yes, I do! Would you like a phone call so I can try to help out?""Oh thank god. Yes. Okay."
She called me with her wife. She explained to me that I was in Boston (a city I knew nothing about), that I had roommates (of whom I knew nothing and desperately wanted to avoid), that there had been a major pandemic (which I did know of) and that I needed to wear a mask in common spaces (I could see the masks hanging right by the door, unmissable). She also said that there was a cat. (The cat came in and out repeatedly and seemed unconcerned with me, which was comforting.) She gave me the same crisis diagnostic that had been on pg. 118, and once assured of my lucidity, dug out a crisis plan that the others had apparently given her in the past. This unfortunately did not have up-to-date information about my roommates, but I wanted to avoid them anyway.
The little book mentioned medication, but not what or how much. (This has since been rectified.) I found pill bottles in the room with the body's name on it, and
marzicastella was able to tell me what they were, but the dosage was unclear. On the pill bottle and in the crisis plan, it said to take one pill; a card in the wallet said to take one-half, but the pill-cutter in the bathroom had a quarter-pill in it. Stymied, Grimm suggested I follow the card in the wallet, which I did, and this was apparently correct, had the others not seen fit to raise their medication temporarily in the months prior to my coming out. The normal dose would do no harm, at least.The crisis plan had no advice as to the cat, which Grimm said the others had been taking care of while the roommate was away. It didn't seem to be asking for food, so I hoped that it would be all right. (I later learned that the cat's human had returned just a couple days prior. It was fine.) I couldn't tell if the body had eaten (it had not, I later learned), but I wasn't hungry so let it be.
At
marzicastella's suggestion, I wrote notes in the journal, which I left open in a prominent location for whoever woke up.After finishing the call, I found that one of the other friends had responded to my text in the interim. I explained things and they offered their support up until 5am. (Strange sleeper, apparently.) I decided to shower, brush my teeth, and go to bed, but there were many things in the bathroom and I had no idea which was mine. I counted the bars of soap in the shower to divine that probably four human beings, including us, lived in this place. I turned to the body, hoped the objects it pulled me towards were mine, but was able to find comfort in a box of bathroom things that contained the same pills (with the same name) as the ones in the bedroom. I therefore felt safe presuming that toothbrush and toothpaste were mine. Shampoo and soap, I had to ask the body and hope for the best. (It guided me true, thankfully.) There were also skin creams; the body pulled me towards one in particular, and the body had a rash that hadn't been as well taken care of as I would've liked, so I took care of it.
Back in their room, I looked through drawers, to see if there was anything useful. The laptop that was awake, I shut down, unable to concentrate on the task they'd been doing before I was thrown up. There was a slab of glass in one drawer that the body told me was a phone, though not like I had ever seen. Curious, I pushed the one button on it, got a password request, and put it back; the body could not tell me things like passwords. (Later, the others wrote down such passwords and put them in a place I could easily find them.)
The bed and bedding were in clear view, and I didn't need the body to know to roll out the mattress and put myself to bed. The window air conditioner was on, but I'd never dealt with one before and decided to just not touch it. I searched the bookshelf for something familiar--there were many, many books, all unfamiliar except for two or three. I chose one of the only authors whose name I recognized, discovered it was an omnibus I had already read, just with a different title, and settled in with that. I hoped the familiarity would calm me and get me to sleep. The body also helpfully directed me towards a tiny digital music player with some strange relaxation audio, which was peculiar but did work. (It also thankfully was extremely easy to use: I pushed two buttons and it played by itself. Very convenient, since I'd never seen such a thing before.)
I woke up multiple times throughout the night, including due to hunger. Frustrated and annoyed, I turned to the body and it led me to a shelf and food I could barely see in the dark. (I have since thankfully learned it was indeed our food.) I grabbed the first thing I saw (a biscuit), wolfed it, and that was enough to get the stomach to leave me alone. Every time I woke, I hoped it wouldn't be me anymore, only to be annoyed to discover I was still there. Rogan finally was pulled back around 4AM, much to my relief.
Though I was out of sorts at the time, there were a number of things that were immensely helpful to my navigation, which I want to note here as well. Obviously, having people to call was very helpful. Between
marzicastella and the little book, I feel things were handled well enough, which is good since this is apparently the first time my situation has happened here, at least in the body's adulthood. That they had created measures to minimize the chaos, and that they worked this well despite the novelty, is impressive to me, now that I've calmed down.The body was already equipped with phone, wallet, and keys in its pockets, so I was able to quickly search the pockets for information. The wallet was stuffed with an overwhelming number of cards, including things I had no way of understanding at the time (vaccination record, food stamps card), but among those cards were information about our address (though outdated, apparently this body moved recently), doctors (and their phone numbers), and the medication I was supposed to take. I have also just been informed that there was a crisis one-page thing in the wallet that would've told me the things I needed to know, but it was in a back pocket, out of view, so I didn't see it. I have since updated it and moved it to the card pockets, so it's in plain view the moment anyone opens the wallet.
I have also just been informed that the phone had emergency information on it, but that was a feature added to phones after my original tenure, so I had no way to know that or think of it. (We updated it but it's very clunky. I doubt anyone will ever use it.) Nevertheless, that there was a one-pager AND the phone AND the book AND people to call, multiple layers of redundancy, made it more likely I would stumble upon ONE of them.
I also checked the desk I had found the body working at upon my arrival. The computer had all sorts of files, so I didn't even bother trying to dig through them, just saved what was up and shut it down.There was a piece of paper covered in different handwritings and web addresses, which I disregarded as irrelevant, but there was also a work in progress, apparently an introduction to the people here, which I found immensely helpful as to what OTHER people thought or were supposed to know of us. I have requested that work be finished and clipped to the little book.
The room had also been arranged to minimize my necessity for common memory. (I later learned this was the doing of one person here in particular, Biff.) (Rogan has also just explained to me that there is a book about this that they learned from, The Psychology of Everyday Things by Donald A. Norman. He also rushes to tell me later editions are called the Design of Everyday Things. Chapter 3, at least of the old version we have, is called "Knowledge In The Head And In The World" and there are copious handwritten notes in it. Clearly I have benefited from this.)
The pandemic masks (which I would NOT have known to wear, if not for the work for
marzicastella) were hanging right next to the doorknob so I couldn't leave the room without seeing them. This helped to remind me every time I did. Drawers and shelves were clearly labeled as to their contents, and almost nothing was hidden from plain view. This made it easier for me to search and find things. The little book was in a conspicuous place with its title on the spine, so even without the body's help, I probably would've eventually found it. (And I have now added CHECK ME in chalk on the shelf under it.) Furniture was plain wood or blackboard painted so that labeling with chalk is both easy and temporary.Since my accidental surfacing, measures have been taken to prevent my confusion in the future. The little book has been updated with the details of our meal plan, medication, and phone numbers of emergency contacts; the crisis plan Grimm and others have will be updated soon. All the kitchen cabinets have been labeled, and the bathroom box. Food has been labeled. Most of the desks' cubbies and drawers were already labeled with chalk; they similarly labeled all the shelves of the bookcases.
I've been told that this will probably end up in a proper essay at some point. These are just my notes for now.
no subject
Date: 2024-08-05 09:05 pm (UTC)I found this very interesting and super helpful. Thank you for writing it all out.
That situation hasn’t happened to us since Christy of Stealth got yanked up in the middle of Red Robin, but you never know. It could happen again. Because of your situation, I’m starting one of those little books myself.
If there’s ever anything else you need to know that I could be of help with, feel free to ask me. I’ve known people there for a good many years, and my system has even longer than that.
I hope you’re settling in well and having an easier time of things now.
Mangle
PS: If you want to know anything about me, you can also feel free to ask.
PPS: It’s funny that you said their phone was a piece of glass. That’s what we jokingly call ours every time the screen reader fails, because it becomes about as useful as. a slab of glass.
I’d imagine … let’s see, the last time you were out before that, it was the time of iPods and the like?
no subject
Date: 2024-08-05 09:15 pm (UTC)Also, I hate how smartphones feel like slabs of glass! It feels so tactilely disorienting, it's like, how do I find anything on it?
Rawlin: I know what an iPod is, but we never had one. We had a CD player, record player, and tape player. M.D. used to make her own tapes, her and the girl who was first here... I remember those ads with the silhouettes, anyway.
(Rogan: When he said this, I went to go check when those ads aired. And go figure, yeah, they started in September 2003, ran until 2005, right during the last time Rawlin was roaming free. Huh.)
no subject
Date: 2024-08-05 11:46 pm (UTC)Rawlin, we remember those ads! We got our first iPod in 05. And yes smart phonds are so disorienting.
no subject
Date: 2024-08-06 06:01 pm (UTC)EDIT: never mind, sent it to the rhymershouse one!