text: The most difficult things to imagine absent from life are those which have always been present. In 2027, when I was in second grade, Mani Inc. revealed their breakthrough “ManiWatch”: a rechargeable wrist device that, through tracking various physiological metrics such as heart rate, HRV, functional lactate threshold, and VO2max, could calculate a revolutionary new metric called a “Readiness Score.” This would conveniently notify the user which tasks they should and should not engage with given their score, as well as if working out was worthwhile that day, if a nap was a smart choice, and when exactly they should sip coffee for the largest benefit. It revolutionized productivity in ways that humankind could’ve only dreamed of before its emergence. Through letting objective analyzation dictate activity and monitor the most important metrics, society started to prioritize readiness scores over subjective measures of wellbeing, as the scores had proven themselves to be more accurate than someone trying to guess their subjective mental and physical potential. It wasn’t until seventh grade that I got my first “ManiBand”--a device which you’re supposed to wear around your head every night to enhance the “Readiness Score” accuracy from solely wrist-based metrics. It tracks the user’s sleep cycles and integrates the scores into a more accurate estimate of readiness. A breakthrough study by Harvard found that year, with just the fourth generation ManiWatch and first generation ManiBand, that by consistently wearing Mani Inc.’s “wearables,” one could boost their productivity by a whopping 110%. Parents started to encourage their kids to remember to charge and wear their wearables before bed in the same way they encouraged them to brush their teeth every night. Wearables were a significant advancement to the human condition, but through the Readiness Revolution humanity discovered something curious: the data that wearables provided over time indicated the existence of “rogue days.” These are days where, due to no identifiable precondition, the Readiness Score is incredibly low. Through early studies in the infancy of the Readiness Revolution on rogue days, it was determined that to do anything but rest and sleep would throw off the next several days of wearable tracking, Readiness Scores, and by consequence, a productive and happy life. These occurrences are extremely rare and decrease in frequency with each new Mani Inc. generation of wearables, yet it is still of upmost research to understand these seemingly random anomalies to develop techniques to counter them. Sensing a niche for a new product (the market share of Mani Inc. is the highest of any product in the world) the “M-pill” was introduced--the best antidote to a rogue day, which simultaneously eases the mind and tranquilizes the user, and is solely indicated for rogue days. As Mani Inc. has already eradicated the majority mental health challenges through their wearable’s contributions and M-pills, Mani Inc. is considered the most popular, reputable, and important business entity in the history of the world for all of humankind. I had rogue days often, but never more than twice in a year; nowadays most folks might have one in a decade. Nowadays, there are several iterations of the devices that Mani Inc. so infamously revealed since 2027. I personally use the ManiWatch 9, the ManiBand 6, and practice caloric tracking too, a new trend also affiliated with what people are starting to call “Metricism,” the preeminent philosophical movement of my time. Metricism posits that life--physical, emotional, mental, and even spiritual health--are emphatically improved by the meticulous tracking and analyzation through advanced algorithms of physiological metrics. Action follows the suggestion of these algorithms. Most everyone that begins to practice the values of Metricism becomes happier, healthier, and far more productive than those who do not engage in it. The more one commits to consistent and thorough Metricism practices, the more rewarding Metricism seems to be. I woke up Monday with a score of about 89/100, which meant I was in great condition, though all I felt was the urge to sleep another 5 minutes. I woke myself up, and groggily checked my ManiBand to try and understand why I felt so drained despite my high readiness score and discovered that I had only had 20 minutes of my REM cycle. When all the devices synced on the Mani companion app, my updated score dropped to a 67/100, which made more sense; it’s hard to achieve your dreams on days you didn’t dream, after all. The Mani companion app told me that today would be a day where a M-pill would be necessary in the evening, which gave me a sense of private relief, despite the rogue day designation. I ate precisely 450 calories as recommended by the app, as my ManiWatch had tracked exactly that amount had been burned by my base metabolic rate since my last meal input. I dutifully inputted the exact amounts of fats, proteins, carbohydrates, and fluids into the Mani companion app, hoping it would save the designation of the day from “rogue” to “poor.” My morning classes were stressful. The Mani companion app advised against putting any effort into studying, as the Readiness Score predicted that it would be futile compared to the potential of the next day’s score, given my weekly average, which was much higher. But I was already behind in my classes from the week prior, and it stressed me out knowing I’d be even more behind this week with the rogue day designation. The M-pill that night, I knew, would soothe my anxiety, but I still couldn’t help feeling restless through classes, and like I could do more. But like a sensible person, I obeyed the assessment. At lunch, my friend Sloan tried to help me feel better, but ended up just making me feel worse about my restlessness and agitation. “You know, we can just work out together tomorrow! My score today is barely enough to qualify for a run, so it’ll probably be a shitty run anyways,” he tried to reassure me, even though after an agitating day of low potential and tons of opportunities for productivity, all I wanted to do was burn the stress away with a run. My macros were looking great, but I was low on potassium, sodium, magnesium, and water, which factored into the activity contraindication I was given. Sloan never really had rogue days, and it felt difficult for him to identify with the stress of not being ready enough to complete already late work I had on my plate, plus not being able to run off the stress. The only thing to do was that which the companion app indicated--nothing of any importance. I got home and took my M-pill, and immediately the weight of the world was lifted from my shoulders. I played videogames until the rogue day ceased to be a concern, and I drifted off peacefully into sleep. I dreamt. When Tuesday morning rolled around, it was a shock to see that it was yet another rogue day. Not just any rogue day, but a 26/100 Readiness Score! I was consistent with what the algorithm had told me to do the day prior yet had two rogue day designations in a row. I had received perfect sleep, and my diet the night prior hit all my macros and micros that were deficient that morning. It felt like a blow to the chest, knowing that there was nothing to be done despite so many assignments, studying, and obligations to be done. Thoughts raced through my head, trying to tackle how this could’ve happened, but I arrived without any rational reason why I had now had two rogue days in a row. The philosophy of Metricism asserts that if you are not at a certain threshold of readiness given an opportunity to do something meaningful, that it is better to rest that day and pursue it the next. Better to complete a three-hour task on a day you’re Readiness Score indicates it’d only take you two hours, after all. The protocol for rogue days is to simply balance your macros, take a M-pill, and sleep it off, which makes another rogue day highly improbable. Rogue days are typically infrequent, yet I had had four that month alone, and in the past two days, two in a row. I spent Tuesday in limbo. I felt wholly capable of doing things but restrained by that which was supposed to objectively tell me when exactly to do what and when not to. I weighed violating the companion apps’ recommendation but assumed it would be futile, because I had never been put in a spot to consider such a drastic move. I told my professors, and they accepted the predicament I was in graciously and patiently, but Jackson, my supervisor, did not. I had had too many rogue days in the past month to justify keeping me, and I was promptly removed from my internship opportunity. “You seem alright to me, you pitiful subjectivite,” he said grinning as I packed up my possessions from my desk, with the tone of someone who was confident they had discovered a personal lie. I didn’t believe his sincerity initially, as every single other rogue day hadn’t been an issue, but the animosity in the air following the comment, and his grin indicated a completed shift of my reputation, and so I bowed my head and left. To lie about a Readiness Score is an offence that is prosecutable by law. The Metrics Act of 2035 codified the legal use of the Readiness Score, lying about which is prosecutable as fraud. Many worldwide countries joined the “Readiness Revolution” alongside the United States, and many resisted; those who evaded the revolution were later forced to join it as all their economies tanked next to the Metricistic countries’ economies, bolstered by the surge in productivity of its citizens. To lie about having a rogue day to evade responsibilities was nonetheless common, and we called those types of people “subjectivites.” To not participate in the Readiness Revolution was a freedom of choice that only the foolish and the elderly opted for. I was not a subjectivite, but I sure felt as lowly as one. It was true--I had had more rogue days in a month than most people had in years. Usually, the wearables pick up on any health condition days before doctors would have back in the 2020s, but mine indicated nothing unusual. Moreover, I was hungry to run, hungry to complete homework and study, and devastated by the sudden removal of my position from a job I cared so much about. I took an M-pill and let the world drift away from importance yet again, and fell into a deep sleep. M-pill sleep is usually the best kind of sleep. On Wednesday, I woke up feeling absolutely burnt out from the stress of the day before, the effects of which were just hitting me. The tens of hours of outstanding work to catch up on in university only weighed my head more into the pillow before I checked my Readiness Score, which read 90/100. I puked in my toilet from the anxiety of what faced me that day, and got dressed, intent on utilizing all of the potential my Readiness Score had indicated. My professors were most pleased at how rapidly I caught up in everything, but all I felt was dissatisfaction and emptiness. I could barely remember my name, or what I even liked. A pretty woman at Starbucks spilled my drink on herself, and I yelled at her, which I apologized for profusely, but she just stared, blankly. I got the work done, and the Readiness Score was accurate to how capable I was of completing everything I had fallen behind in, but I felt like I was a robot programmed to feel devoid of emotion the entire time. I skipped my evening physics class, and came home early, without even caring about the lecture I had just missed. As soon as I arrived home, I cried without a distinguishable reason. My ManiWatch automatically enabled activity mode due to my heart rate soaring to 180bpm, indicative of physical activity, as I sunk into a desperate madness. Nothing could comfort me, and as my ManiWatch congratulated me for hitting a weekly heart rate peak with beeping and animated confetti, I ripped it off and screamed into my pillow, anxious for my thousands of thoughts to cease, and my breaths to slow. I fell asleep at 5pm in the afternoon, fully clothed, without addressing any more of the unproductive thoughts from the productive day I felt like I had just barely made it through. I awoke Thursday morning to my ManiWatch beeping at me for my alarm and felt something was very wrong momentarily before it came to me--I had forgotten to wear either wearable to bed. Shocked, I looked at my ManiBand, resting peacefully in its charging port, the charge LED light indicating that it was ready for a full night of logging, only it was 6:15am. My ManiWatch on the ground read in big red letters across the screen: “INSUFFICIENT DATA.” I couldn’t believe what had happened; I hadn’t forgotten to wear a wearable since middle school. The weight of the previous day resurfaced in my head as I breathed heavily. I decided that I couldn’t afford to fall behind through another panic attack. I got dressed for the day, and tried to forget about the predicament I was in. It was my only option. The first thing I noticed was my stomach grumbling, and I remembered: I hadn’t tracked my macros and micros to completion Wednesday. The sensation was unfamiliar. I quickly ate a meal that was more than the amount I was supposed to for breakfast, to make up for the night prior, and tracked my macros as if the frequency of my meals hadn’t been interrupted from my episode the night prior. I ate, drank, and then ran errands for the rest of the morning, completing everything that I had still not completed from my productivity hiatus. Dr. Stevens, my biology professor, jokingly asked if I was experiencing *another* rogue day as I entered the room. His expression indicated that he had perceived my chaotic mental state, and I replied that I was fine-- I was unwilling to fall behind and risk the chaos of catching up again by admitting my legitimate situation. He was my favorite professor: always organized, genuine, and wickedly intelligent, and after being sacked from the most promising biology internship in the state, I had no intentions of swaying another person’s perception of myself. “Ah, well that’s great news to hear. You don’t look well though,” he replied with a tone of concern. “How’re your vitals?” he asked. I snapped back that they were normal, and hurriedly sat down before the confrontation could continue. To everyone’s mutual surprise, Dr. Stevens announced a pop quiz on the central dogma of biology. I answered the questions quickly, my stylus shiny with sweat, before anyone else finished. I sat down again relieved at how easy the pop quiz was and waited for everyone else to complete the quiz before Dr. Stevens interrupted my state of contentment by requesting that I go see him in his office after class. Reluctantly, I nodded. His office was the most colorful in the entire building, with diagrams of complex biochemical pathways stretching endlessly into the corners of the room. A photo of his family sat on the shelf behind his desk. The young Dr. Stevens in the photo stared back at me, his face unhappy, almost glaring back at me. “All of my kids are married and raising their own kids now. I think that it’s very peculiar to be a biology professor and a parent at the same time; I can’t help but to acknowledge that they are my contributions to the same theory of evolution we talk about endlessly in class!” He smiled, as if expecting a laugh from me, but I didn’t feel like responding. “You didn’t look at your ManiWatch when I asked you if your vitals were normal,” he said as he mixed a bag of green tea into his heated mug. I could feel his aged eyes scanning my face as the silence of the room met his question. “You look sickly. Is everything going alright, Seth?” My thoughts raced through a dozen excuses simultaneously, but I had so many running through my head that I failed to commit to any at all as his eyes remained analyzing mine. The smell of his tea rank in my nose; it had been years since I had smelled a beverage that wasn’t coffee. “Are you doing alright, Seth? You don’t seem yourself.” I didn’t move. “You’ve had two rogue days back-to-back with each other, yet somehow look worse today,” he said. I remained silent. “I’m concerned, not upset; your grades are among the highest of the class,” he reassured me, but I was in another planet, the last 72 hours racing behind my paralyzed eyes, locked looking through the floor as my hands trembled silently under the desk. “Seth? Do you hear me?” Children, the ill, and the elderly most often forget to wear their wearables. Sometimes, they break in the middle of the night, though extremely rare--Mani Inc.’s product quality is the best in the world. The protocol to attain a proper Readiness Score in the event of a null reading is to immediately consult with a representative from Mani Inc. It takes about an hour and a half, but the importance of attaining an accurate estimate of a score from a licensed expert is almost always of such importance that virtually nobody risks not getting assessed, despite the irritatingly long and tedious assessment process. Overwhelmed by the contents of my mind, I broke my silence. I told him everything, all at once. I told him about the two rogue days, and the M-pills, my job, and the panic of the night before. I told him that I hadn’t worn my wearables, and didn’t know my Readiness Score, and that I had lied to his face about it. I told him about how desperate I was to not fall behind again from my peers and plead with him to not judge me for daring to lie about such a serious topic in the face of his genuine concern. I finished venting to him before I knew I had started, and sat in a state of helpless exasperation, staring again into the space beyond the floor. He sat silent for a moment, staring at the same place my gaze continued to shoot through on the carpet. After the moment had passed, and the silence of the room grown loud, he sipped his tea, and sat down in his office chair. “Your scores came back from the quiz perfect, Seth.” I was surprised at his irrelevant response and looked at him from the prison of a chair I had been bound into. Sensing the shift in my attention, he continued, not moving his eyes from the preferred spot in the carpet as he spoke. I noticed his eyes eased as he spoke, and his expression changed from one of concern to total ease throughout his admission. When he was done talking to me, he calmly met my blank stare, and stood up. As he unstrapped his ManiWatch from his wrist he smiled and left me alone in his office, humming a tune into the hallway as he walked away. Big red letters continued to flash across the screen as I walked out of his office a few minutes later.