Ted’s just sort of standing around not doing much, so I promise him a wish, “Learn writing skill”, I figure that’s kind of important to someone aspiring to be a professional author (but not essential for all of us, amirite!?). I was hoping this would spur him on to take a little initiative, but he didn’t do anything. His Energy bar is quite low and it’s 2am, but he hasn’t taken himself off to bed yet. I figured I’d let him go in his own time. Perhaps he has something he’d rather do right now. He stood in the corner of his room and laughed while thinking about the house. For god’s sake, Ted.
5am. Energy bar is critically low. He still doesn’t go to bed. By 7am his plumbob is bright red and he’s angry about being awake — yet the thought hasn’t occurred to him to go bed. His Hunger bar is low now too, and his Bladder is close to needing immediate emptying. He thinks about a park bench and laughs.
Not wanting him to wet himself, I finally instruct him to use the toilet. Can’t believe I have to do that. A little miffed, I send him to bed at 9am, where he dreamt mainly of food, and getting buff. He wakes up at 7pm, starving. Great Ted. You’re nocturnal now. That’ll be wonderful for the job search.
1am rolls around and it’s clear he’s not going to the fridge to get dinner himself. He’s mad as hell he’s that hungry. He’s hangry. He keeps pointing to his mouth in exasperation and yelling. I make him go get cereal. I’m wishing there was some sort of electrified cattle-prod to poke him with at this point. Do something for yourself, you lazy bastard. Why do you need to be instructed on everything?
As he’s eating, the postie leaves some bills in his letterbox, but she dumps them on the ground in a huff due to the letterbox being full already. Whoops, forgot about bills. I send Ted outside after he’s eaten to pay them and get them out of the way. 2 x §83 gone. The bank account at 2:30am stands at §729. Need a job. The usual suspects plus one interesting option – Journalism Career – Paperboy. §38 p/h. Journalism could be a step in the right direction? At least it’s writing. Beats cleaning toilets. But with §729 left in the bank, things aren’t desperate enough to have to settle for anything other than fiction writing. Yet. Ted’s not buoyed by this small ray of hope. His social bar is really low. He can’t call anyone to chat, it’s 3am. He’s lonely.
At 3:30am, his energy bar is just a little over half, so I figure it would be a good time to get some rest to try and reset that nocturnal sleep rhythm. He laughed, almost as if he was relieved. He crept into bed and dreamt of something really strange, this was the picture:
When he was hungry and fell asleep, he dreamt mainly of food. His Social bar is low, what is this dream? Is it a fight between the happy self and the angry self? Green representing the happy plumbob and orange the desolate plumbob? Perhaps it represents someone turning their back on him — social exile. Either way that’s pretty heavy… he’s not in a good way.
He woke up at 8.15am, a respectable hour to get up instead of being all nocturnal. Social still critical, Bladder critical, Hygiene critical. Oh Ted. I decide not to instruct him on anything, I worry he’s getting too dependent on me. Why doesn’t he do things himself?
I refuse to be an enabler right as the countdown begins to the full loss of bladder control. If he doesn’t take himself to the toilet in the next 4 minutes, he’s going to wet himself right there in the corner of his bedroom. Think of the carpet, Ted. Engage autonomy, Ted! TED GO TO THE TOILET BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!