A Failure at Conning A Fake Intership

When I was out of the house one day, my father told me upon my return that I had missed a call from a company called "Dial America" or something similar. I assumed, as it was the peak of my job hunt, that it was one of the 36 companies I had applied to calling me back to offer me a job.

Not realizing how wrong this assumption was, I called the company back at the phone number contained within my caller ID.

I was still desperate at this point for a career in writing or journalism of some kind (who am I kidding, I still am). So I waited until the next day to dial the number, assured that I was going to be able to set up some kind of an interview.

After leaving a confident voicemail about how excited I was to have been asked about partaking in an editorial internship position, I hung up and waited for a reply.

By this point, my doubts had nestled into my psyche. I had no idea what this company did, nevermind the notion that I could have ever applied there.

So my phone rang at about 8:30 the next morning. Being tired, groggy, and haven't had used my vocal chords since the previous evening, I sounded worse then the train wreck I looked like when I said;

"Hellllllo?"

"Hello, is this Devon?" The official-sounding caller replied.

After confirming my identity, the caller proceeded to try and rectify the scenario;

"I'm not sure we have any sort of internship program here at Dial America, so I don't really know what you were calling about," she said in a cheery tone.

"Well, I was fairly certain I applied at your company," I stated, knowing full well by now that I hadn't.

"I'm not saying that you haven't, but I have no idea why you would have applied to a position we don't offer," she retorted.

"I see," I said, clearly out of options.

"If we were to offer you a position in the future, don't hesitate to call us back. But as of right now, I have no idea what you were talking about," she finished.

I assumed that if I couldn't even persuade someone that I applied to their company, then I couldn't furthermore assume that they had an inkling about who I was. Realizing by this point that they were the third party concerned with selling me a video gaming magazine subscription, I decided to double back and cover my tracks. Essentially, to explain why it was that I had done something so completely asinine.

"I suppose what happened was that in my job search, I had called the wrong number in my caller ID. I appreciate the fact that we were able to figure this whole thing out," I said.

"Ah, I see what you mean. Perhaps you should try the next number in your caller ID, maybe they have that internship position you were looking for," she said.

A long pause ensued, and silence filled the void. I decided to change the mood.

"So....can I get a free subscription to my magazine?"

Another Time Travel Anomaly

While searching through my phone's computer-sync database, I found a peculiar backup file. Despite the fact that I had no idea why or how it could have appeared there, I found a sub-folder called "SHERMAN," written exactly as such.

Sherman, whom you may remember from previous installments, was a friend of mine who assisted me most in shedding light on the possibilities of time travel in my own vivid bildungsroman. He researched the dates and times that my phone chose to display, giving me the insight I needed to continue my pursuit of knowledge within the parameters of the future.

Now, my phone had seemingly singled him out.

Seeing the directory made me wonder what it was that he may or may not have told me. Perhaps his words were in some way relevant to the way history would play out; perhaps it was again just an awkward coincidence. At this point, the latter seemed terrifically unlikely.

Within this directory, I found no concrete files. The filename was this;
C:\Documents and Settings\Owner.YOUR-34EFF17BD0\My Documents\Phone Backup\SHERMAN

I know 100% that I sure as hell hadn't created it. I wouldn't even have known how.

Even though there were no concrete files within the four subdirectories (entitled 'DCIM,' 'music,' 'picture,' and 'video'), I was convinced that the directory had some kind of purpose.

But what that purpose was, I was completely unsure of. I hoped it was nothing disastrous.

Eudaimonia

Semi-recently, I've familiarized myself with Plato's principles of Eudaimonia. Eudaimonia is, in a nutshell, the happiest point a person can attain, only possible through the fulfillment of his or her own potential. This can mean a few fundamental things;

I am not currently the happiest I can be. Is this because I am only on my personal journey, supposed to reach Eudaimonical enlightenment by the end of my life, or is it that I'm only happy in the short term satisfaction of my immediate goals. If the latter, my goals are in fact such;

-Get drunk frequently
-Play pool
-Spend time reminiscing with good friends

This makes me wonder heavily.

Am I or am I not fulfilling my potential?
I've always wanted to be a professional actor, but will the fulfillment of that specific goal make me Eudaimonically happy? I don't quite think so. I rather believe that writing and the recognition and discrepancies of those works will make me somehow travel towards my personal Eudaimonia. Things like those I say above as well as buying a new power supply and more ram for my computer would only enable the accomplishment of smaller steps towards that end.

Indeed, I hope they will.

Pie for the Dog

I was sitting right here in this very spot last night, blogging to my heart's content while buzzed on cheap Mexican beer. Truman the dog, with whose care I am charged while my sister is out of town on business, was sitting next to me. I went to the refrigerator to grab some apple pie that my dad made earlier in the evening, and brought it back with me.
Truman the dog was very curious what it was that I was eating, and although he wasn't pushy or thieving about it, he made it clear to me that he wanted to try it as well. It made me start thinking about a few things.

Normally, I don't enjoy it when people eat in front of me, it's just something that I've never particularly enjoyed. It's not so much an acknowledgment of politeness, but rather that I see eating as a communal activity that I really enjoy participating in. I suspected Truman felt the same way.

I also can't help but wonder, however irrationally, if animals that we sometimes keep as pets were actually something else in a past life. For all I knew, Truman was an upstanding fellow of good character who happened to love the taste of apple pie.

Between both of these thoughts, I felt mildly guilty about eating some apple pie in front of Truman, especially with him sitting there and showing the best restraint possible for a well-behaved canine. So I gave him a couple bites. I felt it was the right thing to do.

A Large Salad

Instead of publishing the final chapter, I think instead I might have to post this link to better monitor the possible outcome of the Hadron Collider's insidious motives;

Has the Large Hadron Collider destroyed the world yet?

Since all I can do is wait, I think I will tell another true story for an eager audience.

I used to work at Wendy's. It was an interesting high school job, teaching me much about the world (and much about the assholes who live in it). I remember running the front counter one day, a seventeen-year-old me staring longingly into the far window.

Interrupting my gaze into the afternoon sunlight soon enough was an older woman, possibly in her forties or fifties. Clutching her purse tightly, she proceeded to timidly ask me if she could have a salad from our bountiful garden selection.

Without pausing, she then put out her palm in a stopping gesture, and said, "but I can't have carrots on it. For medical reasons, I can't eat root vegetables."

Not wasting any time myself, I then recited the names of the salads without carrots on them, subsequently pointing out their identifying photographs on the menu board behind me.

"Wait, does the Mandarin Chicken Salad have nuts or cucumbers on it?" she asked, more confidently than before.

"Unfortunately, it comes with a few nuts, and a handful of tart citrus reservoirs," I replied, as tactfully as possible.

"I can't have that then," she said, a frustrated grimace striking at me from her face.

I responded by trying to offer her a bare-bones salad, saying more or less that I could go into the back room and throw a bunch of lettuce into a plastic container for her eating pleasure.

"That would be great," she replied, enticing a relieved smile from me.

"Except..."

My smile spun around instantly.

"...I can't have any salads with any white lettuce," she finished. As soon as those words left her lips, I found myself boiling inside. At the time, I felt it was a complete waste of my time for her to go and ask for a dish that God himself would have struggled with. I still think that today, five years later.

I stared the woman right in the eye and extended this heart-felt question.

"Ma'am, if you can't eat carrots, cucumbers, or even lettuce, then why are you challenging my intellect by trying to order a salad? We've got a whole selection of food items that don't contain any of those things. They're called cheeseburgers. If you REALLY want to be safe, I'll pour you a cup of chili. I made sure there was no lettuce in it at 7:30 this morning."

She stared at me, just as shocked at my audacity as I was at her stupidity.

Needless to say, I got a nice word from my boss. It was worth every second.

A Few Theories

A Few Theories

The funny thing about time travel is that it knows no bounds—an agent of time travel can affect anything at anytime, anywhere. Let’s say that human beings become capable of traveling through time ten years, or even one hundred years down the road. That means that at any point in your life, someone from the future could make a drastic change to your life. If the change is made early enough, you would never realize a change was made, because that’s how you would have always remembered it to be.

What that means is that anyone who is important or famous (or for that matter any one of us who will someday be important or influential in some way) could be forever in danger. The only way this can be downplayed is if you consider the fact that if humanity takes a million years to advance its level of understanding in theoretical physics, they may not consider the idea of changing something millions of years in the past as being terribly significant.

The reason why I believe that human beings are capable of these advances relatively soon is precisely because of that fact. If I were to be warned of something in the near future, with my phone going crackers and physical traces of a company left for me to find which is working on these very theories, I am almost positive that it means that I am going to have an impact on something important within the next decade or so in my life.

I was also wondering about how my phone could have done what it did, and how someone may have been able to change a few relatively important and noticeable things about it.

Barring the fact that we don’t know what kinds of limitless technology we all may have in the future (and whether or not someone can screw with my phone at will), I’m willing to humor the idea that it may have been accidental, yet still congruous with the time travel theory.

I like my phone a lot. Every time I check my cell phone account balance and am told that I am way overdue for an upgrade, my immediate reactionary question is always “Why?”

Assuming that me in the future feels the same way (I like to think that I know the guy pretty well), and that cellular telephones operate by constantly receiving feedback from their networks, I believe that if I were to travel back through time and leave a clue for myself, our identical phones might have synchronized with each other on the network, despite the fact that two identical cell phones were displaying two distinct (yet identical) signatures.

I think that my phone may have reverted to match the timing and sync info of future me’s phone because, simply put—the phone that future me has is probably way more current and more updated. The only way this can be disproved is if you consider that in the future, perhaps those updates on future me’s phone weren’t invented yet. I’m willing to believe this one because the phone I have would probably still be able to recognize the same kind of information, even if future phone was outdated.

Phones don’t just go through massive changes at random. I drop my phone somewhat frequently, but I figure that these aren’t the typical “dropped phone” changes. Something else may very well be at work.

Government Involvement

Government Involvement

The previous night, I had been unable to sleep, a vivid and quite illogical masquerade between my dream world and reality taunting my subconscious.

As I looked through my phone, I couldn’t help but wonder what message I could have possibly sent to a coworker. For a time, I was convinced that I must have said something embarrassing, something that I would have had to explain later in the hopes of salvaging a friendship.

Instead, I found this message, marked ‘sent’ at 5:08AM;

“The government is after me. I need you to listen to me.”

I stared at it completely dumbfounded for a few minutes. This wasn’t something I remembered doing at all.

I decided to return to Quyen, hopefully to help me make sense of the whole thing. I asked her if she remembered some kind of context to the message, or in a sheepish tone, if it had abruptly woken her from her sleep.

“It didn’t wake me up, but I thought it was really weird,” she answered. “Were you drunk?” She asked.

I certainly wasn’t drunk during session. If I only had four hours of sleep available to me between required new student interactions, getting sauced would have been one of the last things on my mind.

What really bothered me was that I didn’t remember sending it. Not to mention, even if I were drunk, the words and punctuation were all perfect. That’s not something drunken people tend to do. Not even drunken journalism majors.

I began to think more broadly about the potential context of the text message, and shared the strange text with both Sherman and Brad. Maybe my job was getting to me, frying my sanity for good.

Either way, nothing added up. At this point, all I could do was to wait patiently for some other clue to spring up. None of these crazy events lent itself to a complete explanation, only conjecture.

I spent a long while sitting down to think. I thought about the four dates, the Hadron Collider, the pens, the text message, the change in time zone, the political ramifications.

I came to one solid conclusion among all of this madness. I knew that if some future version of myself was trying to contact me about whatever was going on at this point in time, it would have to be a warning. The global connection and the four targets in Abu Dhabi were far reaching, enough to get the attention of people elsewhere in the world. Maybe even elsewhere in our timeline.

If for some reason humans are able to control time in the future and all of these things are centered on me and my life, it meant one thing for certain.

My life at this moment could be in danger.

Next Chapter -- A Few Theories

The Change in the Timeline

The Change in the Timeline

That night, I found myself unable to sleep. Like every new session, I was supposed to wake up around 6AM to wake the new students up and get them over to breakfast. The next morning certainly was going to be very difficult for me.

I stayed up watching the clock, every moment that I began to drift off interrupted with delusion, startling me awake again. Every moment until 5AM, I began experiencing the half-sleep half-reality that I had grown to hate so much.

Do you ever have moments where you’re not yet asleep, but you begin to dream regardless? You are just asleep enough that your dreams start mixing with your reality, fusing them together in an undistinguishable trance state which is neither real nor imaginary?

My dream world kept insisting that I needed to wake up for job-related appointments, that every moment spent in bed would make me ever more late for a tour, an escort, an advising appointment…an assassination.

I was startled out of my half-sleep around 4AM, wondering why it was that a cold-blooded murder had crept into my half-conscious. I had semi-consciously depicted myself behind the barrel of a smoking firearm, with no emotion leaving its mark on my face, my inner self. It was enough to keep me awake until I was supposed to be up for work.

Later that day, I received a message from Brad. He had been doing some research himself, and told me that he had some news from Geneva. He proceeded to tell me that due to unforeseen problems, the Hadron Collider activation and subsequent test run would be delayed until August. This enormously important scientific landmark was being delayed a month.

No documented explanation for this could be found in the recesses of the internet. I passed the message on to Sherman, curious to see what he would think. Could I, by merely knowing about the collider, by some supernatural means have possibly affected or changed the present timeline? Was this even at all significant?

I didn’t know at all what to think regarding the matter. I was interrupted later that day in my deep thoughts, approached by one of my co-workers.

“What was up with the weird message you sent me last night?” asked Quyen. She was one of the smallest full-grown people I had ever seen, but never without a smile—clearly her height didn’t bother her. Our interactions had been awkward for a time when we had first met, but I was really enjoying getting to know her since then. I hoped that the ultimate answer to this question wouldn’t fuck it all up.

“What message?” I asked. I honestly had no idea what she was talking about.

Quyen gave me a strange look. Her crooked smile and head cocked slightly to the side was a reactionary pose that seemed to say ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

“Check your text log for yesterday,” she said.

I assumed that she was playing it like this because she already felt defensive about being regarded as the most gullible counselor. On staff, some of the other counselors had her convinced of a few outlandish ideas. She believed for a time that there was a “B-Team,” a reserve of 30 or so backup counselors to fill in for us if we all got fired, that “World War Z” was going to be the next required reading book for the Commonwealth College students, and that our boss was college roommates with her arch-nemesis queen of undergraduate advising, Sheila.

I presumed Quyen thought the message was another attempt to get her to believe something ridiculous, and that she was playing it like so.

Then I read what the message said, and it frightened me cold.

Next Chapter -- Government Involvement

Business and Politics

Business and Politics

Hadron Colliders. What an interesting concept in theoretical physics. Even I couldn’t grasp the ultimate meaning of these findings, but I tried hard to find out.

Supposedly, the Hadron Collider was a very expensive device whose only purpose was to enable subatomic particles to smash into each other at incomprehensible speeds. It seemed to me that something that simply explained couldn’t possibly be capable of tasks so intricately complex.

But what did I know? I was a journalism major. Comically enough, I had written science-based news stories before, which basically taught me how to explain complex scientific principles and workings to others without knowing a damned thing about them myself.

I decided to share the information I had so far with an old acquaintance of mine. Although he didn’t work at the same job I did, Brad worked less than a block away, as a tour guide. At 5’9”, with brown hair, and a neatly-groomed beard, his appearance lent itself to a pensive personality.

I told him to drop by the building I was working in around ten o’clock during one of my sit-down desk security shifts, so I could bounce my findings off of him.

He showed up late, having run into a few of my coworkers whom he knew pretty well. I didn’t mind much, because every boring minute sitting at a desk and doing nothing seemed pretty much identical to the next.

He listened closely, periodically nodding at certain details. Once I finished, he agreed that the situation was strange, and that he would find out what he could. He was the type that listened in on the findings and news of the world scientific community, and if this was relevant, it certainly would be one of the most popular topics on the airwaves.

Not that it would have been hard to find out whatever I wanted to know about Timken Aerospace Inc., but I would have had trouble on my own ruling out or making sense of other related anomalies in the science media.

It was about 11 thirty, almost time for me to knock off and go to bed. I attended the evening’s house meeting as per usual, listening to the other five counselors in my building talk about the perks and problems of the day. Afterwards, Sherman had something to tell me.

“Devon, you might find this interesting,” he said.

“Oh?” I asked quizzically, which was my typical response to that kind of declaration.

“Timken Aerospace is working with the international scientific community to build the world’s largest Hadron Collider in Geneva,” he relayed.

“It’s going to go operational on July 14^th,” Sherman finished.

I paused for a moment, realizing something--that was less than two weeks away.

I thanked him for telling me, and departed for my room to maybe try and get some sleep. One thing kept me awake that night, however. If this major breakthrough in science as we know it were to be happening soon, almost at the exact moment that strange and inexplicable occurrences were happening to me, it had to mean one thing for sure;

This was a very significant point in time.

For some reason, maybe a future version of myself was trying to warn me about something in the present. Maybe someone wanted me to know something about this collider, some pivotal piece of information which held a significant role in the future. That someone might want this collider interfered with, protected, or even stopped in some way for an end that I couldn’t imagine.

I wanted so badly to find out.

Next Chapter -- The Change in the Timeline

The Physical Evidence

The Physical Evidence

It was all very surreal. At the time which the physical evidence was found, everything I assumed about the impossibility of the situation vaporized. A few of my fellow counselors had found tangible objects which dramatically changed the tides of the situation.

At first, it was the pens.

Does the name ‘Timken Aerospace’ mean anything to you?

I didn’t think so. It meant nothing to me, so imagine my surprise when Sherman seemed nervously excited about the findings.

Timken Aerospace is a company which specializes in the creation of not only microscopic ball bearings, but also has the resources and connections to build things like the magnificent “Hadron Collider.” This multi-billion dollar device could be capable--in theory of course—of pioneering research into the field of theoretical physics; looking into the possibilities of antimatter creation and containment, subatomic particles without mass, and the eventual proving or disproving of the String Theory.

That last topic could possibly even prove or refute the very idea of time travel.

There wasn’t just one pen. There were a few, scattered about the office and lounge where I worked.

It was a strange thing indeed. Imagine not only my phone changing its configuration to a specific time and place of political significance, but now finding evidence in my proximity of a company’s involvement which might someday be tied to the discovery of time travel. It was almost too easy to dismiss as coincidence, until I heard the next bit.

The nearest branch of this mysterious corporation was almost a thousand miles away, in Canton, Ohio.

Why were their pens showing up in numbers at my place of employment? Was there some physical connection that maybe caused a representative or some other such person to bring them to the office, or maybe an acquaintance who had? I couldn’t really imagine why they would be here, but felt that any possible connection could be somewhat dismissed, however rashly, from the realm of probability.

On the other hand, my phone thought it was January 2005, that I was in Abu Dhabi, and now pens were showing up from a company nowhere near me that was at this moment in the present embarking on a quest to eventually command a means to manipulate time. Something massive could very well be in motion, and a part of my consciousness was ordering me to take a closer look.

At this time, something significant could be happening, perhaps someone in the future centering their efforts on this moment in my existence in an effort to change something. It enthralled me.

The significance of the past two weeks or even the next few days could possibly hold the fate of humanity within its grasp.

Little did I know, I was about to find out why.

Next Chapter -- Business and Politics

The First Stages of Research

The First Stages of Research

The first person I told was my fellow counselor, “Sherman.” It wasn’t his first name, but that’s what I always called him. As the counselor most directly above me in rank, Sherman’s optimism and logical thinking were attributes only out shadowed by his vast intelligence. I only shared my phone’s recent wetting of the proverbial bed with him at first because it was fascinating to me.

There were many other reasons why I should have told him what was happening to my poor phone, whether being his appropriately customized major in “Quantum Mysticism,” (which I found was a comprehensive study of random occurrences, linking theories, and seeming impossibilities, just to name a few), his natural inquisitiveness and willingness to question, or even his ability to make logical correlations between seemingly random events.

I continued to show him my findings for none of these reasons. I kept him informed because he was willing to listen. More importantly, he believed me.

He agreed to look into the dates of January 3^rd, 2005 through January 6^th, 2005 and then check what happened at those times in the Middle East. Honestly, I expected nothing.

At this point, most of the other counselors knew what was happening to my phone. Most of them were willing to joke about it, saying that “New Student Orienting” was making me a bit crazy, making me reprogram my phone in semi-sleep trances. It was easy to laugh at.

I went about my duties, escorting new students to writing and language exams, giving tours of the campus, answering questions. I thought nothing of the entire situation until staff meeting that evening, when Sherman and the other counselors who lived in my hall for the summer would meet and go over the results of our day’s assignments.

When I met with Sherman, he told me about what he had found. On those dates, four major political activists and politicians--all connected individuals--were consecutively assassinated in the vicinity of Abu Dhabi.

Coincidence, obviously. It was a fun fact for me, nothing more. That must have been it after all, because surely my phone didn’t pick a specific set of dates in a certain concentrated region where major specific assassinations had taken place. How could it? With our current world politics, I wasn’t surprised that people had been assassinated on any given day. It prompted little from me.

My questions were multiplied when the next clue came out of nowhere. Sherman and several of the other counselors had found something tangible which brought my streak of skepticism to a screeching halt.

When I found out what it was and why it was significant, I became frightened. The dynamic of my situation was about to change drastically.

Next Week -- The Physical Evidence

The First Clues

The First Clues

In the last week of June in the year 2008, I began to notice several things that struck me as somewhat unusual. The nature of these disturbances in my day-to-day life was easily disregarded, yet something inside me knew better than to gloss it all over.

It started with my cellular phone. When scheduling reminders for myself with the calendar function in my Finnish Nokia telephone as I always did, I noticed a few peculiar quirks with each passing day. I wasn’t sure when exactly it began to do this, but my first red flag began waving around the beginning of July, roughly two weeks before I began writing this. I discovered that my phone began consistently reverting back to the date of January 3^rd, 2005.

Over the next several days, my phone ceased showing me any dates before January 3^rd, 2005, and any dates after January 6^th, 2005. These four days seemed to me to be a curious choice by my phone’s software.

This became problematic, because I found myself having to scroll forward towards the correct date, three years and six months later. I found it not only odd, but frustrating how my phone began insisting out of nowhere that the current date was over three years ago. This struck me as strange indeed, but inconvenient more than anything else.

The next thing that changed was even more peculiar. I began to notice a rather alarming deviance whenever I set my phone’s clock alarm each night for 6:00 AM the next morning. My phone had informed me on the clock control screen that the current time zone was set to Abu Dhabi, a city in the United Arab Emirates. Although not quite sure how this happened, I speculated at the time that my old phone was finally kicking the bucket one transistor at a time. My skepticism and tendency to lean on logic was what guided my thoughts at this time, subtly asserting me that this was all just a stroke of bad luck. It was about time I got myself a new phone anyway.

After all, it was a boxy-looking Nokia 6682, worn around the edges from too many clumsy drops. The buttons were eroding, the oil from my fingers finally having rubbed most of the recognition away from the number buttons. Now, after several years of faithful service my phone decided to go mental. Three years ago? Abu Dhabi? What’s next, the battery sprouting legs and escaping from the back panel?

Not exactly. What I discovered soon afterwards was much more disturbing.

Next Chapter -- The First Stages of Research

A Brief Background

Background

My name is Devon. I am 22 years old, and a recent graduate of my state university. I am from Worcester, a city that is large enough to hide the faces and identities of those who wish to remain insignificant, but small enough for one soul to stand out brilliantly against the bustling backdrop. Characterized by a diverse population of about few hundred thousand people and prided for its compliment of three-decker houses, Worcester is a place where there is either always something to do, or nothing to do at all.

I had always wanted to do something great, but had never had any idea what that could ever be. Until recently, I assumed that my life would follow some natural course, taking me along a path where I would ultimately find my calling, step into a role in the human rat race, and become part of a system where everyone seeks to do the same thing; to get by.

I spent this summer as well as the last summer working at my university, helping each new class of incoming freshmen become acclimated with the college life and atmosphere as well as showing them around the campus. I’ve spent my days helping them pick courses, and engaging them in personal conversation over lunches and dinners, listening to their fears, anxieties or apathies. I’ve helped to instill many students with excitement and anticipation, or at the very least given my own best allegories and bits of advice to help each of them on their way to a new life.

I’ve found it all incredibly fulfilling. I enjoy helping students embrace the very opportunities that I have had. I enjoy answering their questions, I look forward to learning about each individual newcomer to the university, and I feel that my database of knowledge has only amplified the general anticipation that each group has had about their very near futures at college.

It is this job that showed me where my life will end.

Next -- The First Clues

The Memoir Begins...

An Introduction

This is my story. What you’re about to read is unfolding as I write this very sentence, and I am as surprised and as dumbfounded as any of you would be if this were happening to you. The past two weeks have culminated in unbelievable coincidence and apparent impossibilities, leaving me to wonder countless ponderings about my destiny. The clues I have stumbled upon and written about here are quite real, leading and inspiring me to write this text as a conjecture about my role in the future of mankind.

I believe that I will be responsible for several disturbances in the space-time continuum, as well as several politically-motivated assassinations in the Middle East. I believe that an amalgam of me in the future will be capable of time travel, and will use this ability to communicate several messages with me in the past and present, in an effort to either warn me or inform me of something that may change the universe as we know it.

This period in time is a significant target for my future self to interact with for many reasons, and I believe that that is why I must write this memoir. If anything should happen to me in the near future, whether it be my untimely death or perhaps my disappearance, it will mean that I was correct, and that this text will validate everything we have theorized about time travel, quantum mechanics, and theoretical physics up until this point. It is for these reasons that I must record my findings, so that my existence and future can be chronicled and affirmed.

You are invited to use my discoveries in this recording to develop your own theories of what might have happened. I can only speculate what the reasons for these events may be, and you must take it upon good faith that I postulate my reasons for these occurrences with a sincere heart and a concern for what my future and the future of all of humanity may hold in store. I invite you to do the same.

Next Week - A Brief Background

Milk Goes Bad

I'm sitting here and staring at the White Russian I made myself over 3 hours ago. It's not bad yet, but I imagine it will be soon. Drinking out of necessity has made me quite contemplative at this time. Three o'clock in the morning could do that to anyone, regardless.

So I wonder.

Do you ever feel like there's something out there that you have to accomplish?

It hit me over the past two weeks. Hard. I have to write a memoir.

I'm only 22, but I'm convinced that through evidence both physical and electronic that I am in the future capable of time travel....

...and murder. I am planning on detailing how this is possible in later entries. Follow along for more.

Next week - A Beginning