Hey everyone, welcome back to My Weird Prompts. I am Corn, and I am here in our living room in Jerusalem with my brother. It is a bit of a strange morning. The light is hitting the stone walls of the Old City in that specific way it does in early March, but the air feels heavy.
Herman Poppleberry, present and accounted for. And honestly Corn, I am feeling a bit more present today than I was yesterday. That missile barrage last night was something else, right? I think the official report said over two hundred projectiles were intercepted over the central district alone. The windows were rattling in their frames for three hours straight.
It certainly was. It is one of those things where you think you are used to the rhythm of life here, but then the sirens go off and the whole world shifts. You go from reading a book or washing the dishes to sitting in a reinforced room, listening to the thuds of the Iron Dome and the newer Iron Beam systems working overtime. Our housemate Daniel actually sent us a prompt today that hits very close to home. He was reflecting on how much his life has been upended lately. He has been moving between temporary apartments because of the structural damage in his old neighborhood, sleeping in a car park at one point when the shelters were full, and now he is navigating the reality of this joint operation against Iran while caring for a newborn baby.
Little Ezra. He is a champ, but man, trying to maintain a schedule for an infant when the air raid sirens are your alarm clock is a challenge I do not envy. Daniel was asking about how we ground ourselves when everything is in flux, and more deeply, what it says about our brains that some of us crave that stability while others seem to almost thrive in the middle of the mess. He asked specifically if there is a way to categorize this dependence on stability and how it connects to the broader architecture of our personalities.
It is a fascinating question because it moves beyond just the immediate survival tactics and into the core of human personality. Why does one person feel completely shattered when their morning coffee routine is disrupted, while another person just shrugs and finds a new way to get their caffeine fix in a bomb shelter? It is about the internal scaffolding we build to face the world.
And I think we should really dig into that categorization he mentioned. Is there a yardstick for stability dependence? I have been looking into some of the research on this, and there is actually a lot of fascinating data on what psychologists call the need for cognitive closure and how that maps onto our neurobiology. But before we dive into the deep end of the science, we should probably set the stage for our listeners who might not be tracking the local news as closely as we are.
Well, before we get into the deep science, let us acknowledge the environment we are in. We are sitting here on March third, two thousand twenty-six. Operation Rising Lion has been going on for several months now, and the geopolitical stakes are incredibly high. For our listeners outside of Israel, it is hard to describe the feeling of being in a country that is simultaneously high-functioning and under existential threat. The buses still run, people still go to work, the tech sector is still pushing out code, but there is this underlying frequency of chaos. It is like trying to play a high-stakes game of chess while the floor is occasionally tilting at a forty-five-degree angle.
It is the duality of the situation. You have the macro-chaos of international conflict, the shifting alliances, the cyber-attacks on the regional power grid, and then you have the micro-chaos of Daniel trying to find a clean diaper in the middle of the night by the light of a battery-powered lantern. It is a perfect storm for testing the human psyche. When we talk about grounding, we are talking about how to maintain a sense of self when the external world refuses to provide a steady signal.
So let us start with that first part of Daniel's question. For the people who value routine, the people like you and me, Herman, who really appreciate a predictable world, what are the ways to ground yourself when that world is gone? When your physical location is changing and your schedule is dictated by external threats?
I think the first thing to realize is that stability is not just a preference or a lifestyle choice; it is a neurological requirement for many people. When your surroundings are disrupted, your brain's amygdala, the part that handles fear and threat detection, goes into a state of hyper-vigilance. For someone who is highly dependent on routine, that routine acts as a sort of external prefrontal cortex. It manages the world so your brain does not have to. It automates the mundane so you can save your energy for the meaningful. When the routine disappears, your prefrontal cortex has to work ten times harder to make even simple decisions.
That explains why people feel so exhausted during a crisis, even if they are not physically doing much. The cognitive load of just deciding what to do next is massive. If you have to decide where to sleep, what to eat, and how to stay safe every single hour, you are burning through your glucose reserves at an incredible rate.
So the first grounding technique is what I call the micro-routine. If you cannot control the big things, you have to aggressively control the tiny things. We talked about this a bit back in episode eight hundred eighty-six when we discussed the sensory budget. If the world is loud and unpredictable, you create a tiny island of predictability. For Daniel, that might be something as small as the specific way he prepares his bag for the day or a five-minute stretch he does at the same time every morning, regardless of where he is sleeping. It is about creating a "portable home" within your own actions.
It sounds almost like a ritual. I remember reading that in high-stress environments, like elite military units or surgeons in trauma centers, they rely heavily on these checklists and rituals not just for safety, but for psychological stabilization.
It is exactly a ritual. From a psychological perspective, rituals reduce anxiety because they provide a sense of agency. You are telling your brain, "I am the one in charge of this specific movement or this specific sequence of events." It signals to the nervous system that the threat level is low enough to allow for a structured activity. It moves you from a reactive state to a proactive state. Even something as simple as the "five-four-three-two-one" grounding technique can be a ritual. You name five things you can see, four things you can touch, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It forces the brain to re-engage with the immediate physical environment rather than the abstract threat of a missile or a changing political landscape.
I find that sensory anchors are also huge. I have this specific wool blanket, you know the one, Herman? It is heavy, it is a bit scratchy, and it has a very particular earthy smell. When things get really intense, just having that weight on my lap while I am reading or working makes a massive difference. It is like it tethers me to the physical world when my mind is spinning out into what-if scenarios about the war or the future of the region.
Sensory anchors are brilliant, Corn. It is about proprioception, the sense of your body in space. When the world feels unstable, your brain can lose track of where you end and the chaos begins. Deep pressure, like a weighted blanket or even a firm hug, stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system. Specific smells, like lavender or even the smell of fresh coffee, can act as a lighthouse. It gives the brain a constant data point to return to. In neuroscience, we call this "bottom-up" regulation. You are using the body to calm the mind, rather than trying to use the mind to talk the body out of being afraid.
What about the second part of the question? Daniel asked about the personality types and why some people are more or less adaptive to chaos. You mentioned the need for cognitive closure earlier. Can you break that down for us? How do we actually categorize this?
Right. So, in the nineteen nineties, a psychologist named Arie Kruglanski developed this concept called the Need for Closure, or N.F.C. It is a scale that measures an individual's desire for a firm answer to a question and an aversion toward ambiguity. It is not just about being "organized." It is a fundamental cognitive style. Kruglanski identified five facets of this: a desire for order, a desire for predictability, a high level of decisiveness, an discomfort with ambiguity, and a tendency toward closed-mindedness when a "truth" has been found.
So someone with a high need for closure wants things to be settled. They like clear rules, predictable schedules, and definitive plans. They find the state of being "in between" or in flux to be physically and mentally painful.
For a high-N.F.C. person, the current situation in Israel is a nightmare because nothing is settled. We do not know how long Operation Rising Lion will last. We do not know what the next move from Iran will be. We do not know if the schools will be open tomorrow. This ambiguity creates a constant state of cognitive tension. Their brains are screaming for a "stop" signal that the environment isn't providing.
And I assume there is a flip side to that? The people who actually enjoy the "fog of war" or the unpredictability of a crisis?
People with a low need for closure are much more comfortable with ambiguity. They might even find a perfectly structured life to be stifling. They are the ones who can sleep in a car park and think, "well, this is an adventure, I wonder what will happen next," rather than, "my life is falling apart." They have a high tolerance for what we call "epistemic uncertainty." They don't need to know the end of the story to enjoy the current chapter.
So is this just something we are born with? Is it a fixed trait like being tall or having blue eyes? Or can you train yourself to be more adaptive?
It is a mix of temperament and environment. There is definitely a genetic component. We see links between these traits and the way our brains process dopamine and serotonin. People who are more adaptive to chaos often have a higher tolerance for uncertainty because their brains do not perceive it as a life-or-death threat. Their baseline of anxiety is lower. However, you can certainly build "cognitive flexibility." It is like a muscle. If you practice being in slightly uncomfortable, unpredictable situations, you can widen your "window of tolerance." But your baseline, your "home base" personality, usually stays relatively stable.
That connects back to the Big Five personality traits too, right? I am thinking specifically about Conscientiousness and Neuroticism. Those seem like the two big players here.
Spot on. High Conscientiousness usually correlates with a high need for order and predictability. These are the people who keep the world running. They are the engineers, the doctors, the logistics experts who make sure the supply chains for the military and the civilian population actually work during a crisis. They are the ones who make sure the Iron Dome batteries are reloaded and the hospitals have backup generators. But the downside is that when the system they rely on breaks, they feel the impact most acutely. Their strength is their ability to build systems, but their vulnerability is their dependence on those systems.
And Neuroticism, or emotional stability, would play into how they handle the stress of that breakage. If you are high in Conscientiousness but also high in Neuroticism, you are basically a walking anxiety attack in a crisis.
If you are high in Conscientiousness and high in Neuroticism, a disruption of routine feels like a catastrophe. You are already prone to worrying, and now the one thing that kept your worry in check—your routine—is gone. On the other hand, if you are high in Conscientiousness but low in Neuroticism, you might just get very busy rebuilding the routine. You become the person in the bomb shelter who starts organizing the food supplies, making a cleaning schedule, and creating a rotation for who watches the news. You find stability by creating it for everyone else.
I think we have all seen that person. They are the ones who find agency through organization. It is a fascinating survival mechanism. But I want to push on this idea of being "less adaptive." We often talk about adaptability as this ultimate virtue, especially in the modern world. If you are not adaptive, you are seen as fragile or stuck in your ways. Is that a fair assessment? Are the stability-seekers just "worse" at surviving?
I actually think that is a bit of a misconception, and it is an important point to clarify for Daniel. There is a reason the human race has both types. If everyone were perfectly adaptive to chaos, we would never build anything permanent. We would just be wandering around reacting to things, living in a perpetual state of "now." The people who value stability are the ones who build the cathedrals, the legal systems, the universities, and the infrastructure that allows society to function over centuries. We need the people who insist on order. They are the ones who ensure that there is a "normal" to return to once the crisis passes.
That is a great point. It is the stability-seekers who ensure that when the chaos passes, there is something to go back to. They are the keepers of the flame. If everyone was just "rolling with it," we might lose the very things that make our civilization worth defending.
I love that analogy. And in the context of our current situation in Israel, look at how the country has responded to the threats. There is a massive amount of adaptability, sure. People have pivoted to remote work, families have relocated from the north to the center. But there is also this fierce, almost stubborn insistence on normalcy. People are still getting married, kids are still going to school—even if it is in a basement or over a secure video link. That insistence on routine is a form of national resistance. It is saying, "you can disrupt our surroundings, but you cannot disrupt our way of life." It is a psychological frontline.
It reminds me of what we touched on in episode eight hundred ninety-one when we talked about the architecture of resilience. Resilience is not just about bouncing back; it is about having a structure that can absorb the shock without collapsing. It is like those skyscrapers in Tokyo that are built on massive shock absorbers. They move with the earthquake, but they don't fall down.
Right. And for an individual, that structure is your personality and your habits. If you know you are someone who needs stability, you should not feel ashamed of that. You should treat it like a biological requirement. If you were a person who needed a specific type of medication to function, you would make sure you had it. If you are a person who needs a routine to function, you have to prioritize creating one, even in the middle of a war zone. You have to be the architect of your own stability.
So let us talk about the categorization Daniel asked about. Beyond the N.F.C. scale, is there a way to see how this connects to other parts of a person's personality? Like their political views or their creative output?
There is a very deep connection. There is a concept called the Stability-Plasticity Dilemma in neuroscience and artificial intelligence. It basically asks how a system can be stable enough to remember what it has learned but plastic enough to learn new things. Humans fall at different points on this spectrum. This is often linked to the neurotransmitter systems. Stability is often associated with the serotonergic system—it provides calm, focus, and the preservation of existing structures. Plasticity is often associated with the dopaminergic system—it drives exploration, risk-taking, and the seeking of new information.
So some people are more "stable," meaning they have very strong, deep-seated patterns that are hard to change, while others are more "plastic," meaning they can rewire themselves quickly but might lack a solid core. They might be "flighty" or lack a sense of history.
And this connects to things like political views as well. Research, including some famous studies by Jonathan Haidt and others, often shows that people who value stability and order tend to lean more conservative. They value tradition, clear boundaries, and established institutions because those are the things that provide the stability they crave. They see the world as a place that needs to be protected from chaos. They are the "guardians."
That makes sense. If you view the world as inherently fragile, you are going to be more protective of the structures that keep it together. Whereas someone who is very plastic, very adaptive, might see those same structures as restrictive or unnecessary. They might be more open to radical change because they do not fear the chaos that comes with it. They are the "explorers."
And that is where the friction often happens in society. The explorers want to tear things down to build something new, and the guardians want to protect what exists. But in a time of crisis, like we are in now, you see these two groups having to find a way to work together. The plastic people are great at the initial response, the improvisation, the "MacGyvering" of solutions in the first forty-eight hours of a disaster. But the stable people are the ones who turn that improvisation into a sustainable system. They are the ones who make sure the "temporary" shelter becomes a functioning community with a kitchen and a medical clinic.
I am curious about the long-term effects of living in a state of high disruption for people who are stability-dependent. We have been in this heightened state of conflict for a while now. What does that do to a person's brain over months or years? If you are a "guardian" type and the world just won't stay guarded, what happens?
It can lead to something called decision fatigue on a chronic level. If every day is a series of improvisations, your brain never gets to go on autopilot. Autopilot is actually a very efficient state for the brain. It saves energy. When you are constantly in "manual override," you burn through your cognitive resources. This can lead to a specific kind of burnout where you aren't necessarily "depressed" in the traditional sense, but you are just cognitively depleted. You lose the ability to make even simple choices. You see this in refugees or people living in long-term war zones—they might become incredibly indecisive or, conversely, start making very impulsive, risky decisions because their prefrontal cortex is just exhausted.
So you end up with people who are just completely burnt out, not because they are working too hard in the traditional sense, but because the world around them is too demanding. It is like trying to run a marathon on sand. Every step takes twice as much energy.
Precisely. And this is why it is so important for people like Daniel, who are navigating huge life changes in the middle of a conflict, to find ways to "outsource" their stability.
What do you mean by outsourcing stability? That sounds like something you would hire a consultant for.
In a way, it is. I mean using tools and systems to do the work your brain normally does. This could be anything from a very detailed digital calendar with automated reminders to using A.I. agents to manage your daily tasks, or even just having a very structured relationship with your housemates where everyone knows exactly who is responsible for what. It is about reducing the number of novel decisions you have to make every day. If you know that on Tuesday night you eat lentils and on Wednesday morning you check the emergency radio batteries, you don't have to "decide" to do those things. They are just part of the architecture.
That is something we try to do here, isn't it? We have our routines for the house, even when the sirens are going off. We know who checks the safe room, who grabs the emergency bag with the water and the first aid kit, who makes sure the windows are closed to prevent glass shatter. It becomes a practiced dance.
It does. And that practice is what saves you. It moves the response from the high-energy prefrontal cortex down into the more efficient basal ganglia, where habits live. Once something is a habit, it does not feel like a choice anymore. It just happens. And that is incredibly grounding because it provides a sense of "normalcy" even in an abnormal situation. You are telling your brain, "See? We are still doing the thing. We are still us."
I want to go back to the idea of personality disorders that Daniel touched on in his prompt, though he was careful not to stray too far into that realm. We did an episode on this, episode five hundred thirty-three, where we looked at the science of personality disorders. Sometimes, an extreme need for stability or an extreme comfort with chaos can cross over into something more clinical.
Right. It is a spectrum. For example, someone with Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder—which is different from O.C.D.—has such an intense need for order, perfection, and control that it becomes maladaptive. They cannot function if things are not "just so." In a war zone, that person might completely shut down because the environment is fundamentally "imperfect." On the other end, you might have someone with a high degree of "Sensation Seeking" or even antisocial traits who actually enjoys the chaos because it gives them opportunities to exploit the system or feel a "rush" that they can't get in a stable society. But for most of us, like Daniel, we are just somewhere on the normal distribution curve, feeling the friction of a world that doesn't match our internal settings.
And that curve is what makes a society resilient. You want a mix of people. If everyone were the same, we would be incredibly vulnerable to different types of threats. If we were all "explorers," we would have no foundations. If we were all "guardians," we would never adapt to new technologies or changing realities.
It is a form of cognitive diversity. We need the people who can sleep in a car park and stay cool, and we need the people who are going to make sure that car park is turned back into a functioning apartment building as soon as possible. We need the people who can improvise a drone defense system in a garage, and we need the people who are going to write the safety protocols for it.
So, for our listeners who are feeling that sense of disruption right now, maybe because of the war here, or maybe just because of life's usual curveballs—a job loss, a breakup, a move—what is the one thing they should take away from this?
I would say, recognize your own neurotype. If you are struggling, it might not be because you are weak; it might be because your environment is currently incompatible with your biological need for order. Stop trying to "force" yourself to be the person who thrives in chaos if that is not who you are. Instead, focus on building tiny, unbreakable islands of routine. Accept that you have a "stability budget" and that you are currently overdrawn.
I love that. Tiny, unbreakable islands. It could be as simple as how you lace your shoes, the specific way you make your tea, or the three minutes you spend breathing before you get out of bed. It is about reclaiming small territories of the self.
And do not underestimate the power of physical movement. We often think of stability as staying still, but sometimes the best way to ground yourself is through repetitive, rhythmic movement. Walking, swimming, even just tapping your foot in a rhythmic way can help regulate your nervous system. It provides a steady "beat" for the brain to sync to.
I find that very true. There is something about the rhythm of a walk that seems to reorganize my thoughts. It is like the repetitive motion of my legs provides a metronome for my brain to sync up with. It takes the "noise" of the world and turns it into a signal.
That is actually a recognized therapeutic technique. It is called bilateral stimulation. It is the core of E.M.D.R. therapy. By moving your eyes or your body in a rhythmic, side-to-side pattern, you help the two hemispheres of the brain communicate more effectively. This communication is often disrupted during periods of high stress or trauma, which is why people feel "scattered" or "fragmented." Bilateral stimulation helps "knit" the experience back together.
So, let us talk about the second-order effects. If you are someone who is highly adaptive to chaos—the "chaos-riders"—what are the risks you face? We have talked a lot about the risks for the stability-seekers, but what about the people who seem to be doing fine?
The risk for the chaos-riders is that they can become addicted to the intensity. When you are constantly in a state of high-stakes improvisation, your brain is flooded with adrenaline, norepinephrine, and dopamine. It is a powerful chemical cocktail. For some people, a normal, stable life starts to feel boring or even depressing once the crisis ends. They might find themselves subconsciously creating chaos in their personal lives or their jobs just to feel that "rush" again. They become "crisis junkies."
That is a dangerous cycle. It is like a form of high-functioning self-sabotage. You see it sometimes with people who come back from combat zones or high-pressure humanitarian work. They struggle with the "quiet" of normal life.
It really is. They might be the ones who are great in a crisis but struggle to keep a relationship stable when things are calm. They lack the ability to find meaning in the mundane. So, the lesson for them is the opposite of the lesson for the stability-seekers. They need to practice finding value in the routine, learning to appreciate the "slow build" rather than the sudden burst. They need to learn that stability isn't a cage; it's a foundation.
It is about balance, as always. But finding that balance when the world is tilting on its axis is the real challenge. Herman, you have been reading a lot about the psychological impact of the current conflict on the civilian population here in Israel. Is there anything specific from that research that might help someone in Daniel's position, specifically regarding the "collective" aspect of stability?
One of the most powerful findings in disaster psychology is the importance of collective efficacy. That is the belief that "we," as a group, can handle what is coming. For an individual, feeling like you are part of a resilient community is one of the strongest predictors of mental health during a crisis. Even if your personal life is a mess—even if you are sleeping in a car park—if you feel like your neighbors, your friends, and your country are working together toward a common goal, it provides a massive amount of psychological cover. It turns an "individual catastrophe" into a "shared challenge."
That is something I have definitely felt here in Jerusalem over the last few months. There is a sense of solidarity that is almost palpable. When the sirens go off, you see people looking out for each other, helping the elderly into shelters, sharing water, and checking on the neighbors' kids. It is a very tangible form of social stability. Even if the physical routine is broken, the social routine of being a supportive neighbor remains.
It is. It is a "social ritual." And for someone like Daniel, being part of a household like ours, where we talk about these things and support each other, is a huge part of his "stability budget." We are helping him carry the load. That is the ultimate grounding technique: realizing you don't have to be the only anchor in the storm. You can be part of a chain of anchors.
So, to summarize for Daniel and for everyone else: if you are a person who needs stability, you are not failing by feeling stressed. You are just responding to a lack of a fundamental biological requirement. Build your micro-routines, find your sensory anchors, and do not be afraid to "outsource" your stability to tools, systems, and people.
And if you are one of the "plastic" ones who can roll with the punches, use that energy to help build those islands of order for the people around you. Your adaptability is a resource, not just for yourself, but for your community. Be the person who organizes the "car park" into a home.
Well said, Herman. I think we have covered a lot of ground here, from the neurobiology of cognitive closure to the tactical use of bilateral stimulation. It is a lot to process, but I think it is exactly the kind of deep dive Daniel was looking for. It gives a name to the feelings he is having.
I hope so. It is a strange time to be alive, especially here in Jerusalem in two thousand twenty-six. But there is also something very clarifying about it. You really get to see the "wiring" of the human spirit when the external power goes out. You see what people are made of when the routine falls away.
You really do. And speaking of people, we are so grateful for all of you who tune in to listen to our ramblings every week. We know there are a lot of podcasts out there, and the fact that you spend your time with the Poppleberry brothers, especially now, means the world to us. It is part of our routine, too.
It really is. This podcast is one of my "islands of stability." And hey, if you are finding these discussions helpful or even just a good distraction from the headlines, could you do us a huge favor? Leave us a review on Spotify or whatever podcast app you use. It genuinely helps the show grow and reach more people who might be sitting in a shelter or a car park somewhere needing to hear that they aren't alone in their stress.
Yeah, a quick rating or a few words in a review makes a much bigger difference than you might think. We read every single one of them. It is how we know who is out there in the "My Weird Prompts" community.
We really do. And remember, you can find our entire archive of over nine hundred episodes at myweirdprompts.com. There is a search bar there, so if you want to find those episodes we mentioned, like eight hundred eighty-six on the sensory budget or five hundred thirty-three on personality disorders, that is the place to go. We have tried to build a library of resilience over the years.
There is also a contact form on the website if you want to send us a prompt like Daniel did. We are always looking for new topics to explore, whether they are about high-level neuroscience, the ethics of A.I. in warfare, or just the weirdness of trying to raise a baby in a changing world.
So, thank you again to Daniel for the prompt and for being such a great housemate. We will see you back at the house soon, Daniel. I think we managed to get some of that high-altitude coffee you like from the market before the latest delivery restrictions went into effect.
And thank you all for listening. Stay safe out there, find your tiny islands of stability, and we will talk to you next time on My Weird Prompts.
Until next time. Stay curious, but stay grounded.
You know, Herman, I was thinking about that car park Daniel mentioned. It is actually a great example of what we were talking about. Even in a car park, he was trying to find a way to make it work for Ezra. He was hanging a little mobile from the ceiling of the car, trying to create a "nursery" in a space designed for machines.
That is the human spirit in a nutshell, Corn. We are meaning-making machines. We take the raw material of chaos and we try to stamp our image on it. Whether it is a car park, a safe room, or a digital space like this podcast, we are always trying to find a way to make it "ours." We are the architects of our own order.
It is a beautiful thing, when you think about it. It is what has allowed us to survive as a species for so long. We are not the strongest or the fastest, but we are the best at finding a way to thrive in the middle of the mess. We are the ones who bring the light into the cave.
And that is why I am ultimately optimistic, even with everything going on in the north and the south. We have this incredible, innate capacity for resilience and adaptation. We just have to remember to use it. We have to remember that we are the ones holding the pen.
I think that is a perfect note to end on. Optimism in the face of the unknown. It is the most radical thing you can do right now. It is the ultimate "micro-routine."
It really is. Alright, let us go see if we can help Daniel with the baby. I think it is our turn to handle the "tactical diaper change" while he gets some sleep.
Oh boy. Talk about a sensory anchor. That is a sensory experience I could do with a little less of.
Ha! That is one way to put it. But hey, it is a routine. It is predictable. In its own way, it is grounding. Let us go.
Thanks again, everyone. This has been My Weird Prompts. We will catch you on the next episode. Stay safe, stay sane, and keep sending us those prompts.
Bye everyone! See you in the next one!
One more thing before we go. If you are in Jerusalem or anywhere else where things are feeling a bit intense today, take a second to just breathe. Seriously. Just one deep, conscious breath. It changes your chemistry. It is the simplest, most portable micro-routine there is. It is the "reset" button for your nervous system.
Good advice, Corn. I am taking one right now.
Me too. Okay, now we are really going. Thanks for listening to My Weird Prompts. You can find us on Spotify and at myweirdprompts.com. Stay safe.
See you soon!
Herman, did you remember to pack the extra batteries for the emergency radio in the safe room?
Already done, Corn. Stability seeker, remember? I have a list for the list, and a backup for the backup. I even checked the expiration dates on the protein bars.
Of course you do. I do not know why I even asked. You are the human embodiment of a "guarding" personality.
Because you are the thoughtful analyst, and you are double-checking the system. It is what you do. It is our routine.
Guilty as charged. Alright, let's head out. The sun is starting to set, and that's usually when things get interesting.
Lead the way. I've got the lantern.
Actually, you go first. I want to make sure the door is locked properly and the smart-home security is set to "high-alert" mode.
Typical. I will be in the car. Don't forget your wool blanket.
I've already got it. Thanks again, everyone. This is My Weird Prompts signing off. Stay grounded.
And stay curious. Bye!
Goodbye!
Hey, do you think we should mention the battery chemistry episode we did? Episode seven hundred twenty-two? It goes into the difference between lithium-ion and solid-state for emergency use.
Maybe next time, Herman. I think they have enough to process for today. Let's keep it simple.
Fair point. Next time it is. Solid-state is the future, though.
I know, Herman. I know. See you then.
