Post Sewer Vent Upgrade (And Post Everything Else)
The Lair is quiet. Good. Silence means no one is actively on fire or trying to sell my inventions for "pizza money." Thankfully my systems are legit. No one can hack me even if they tried. Or, as Mikey proved last week, accidentally overwritten with a 400GB recording of a reality show about people who marry theme park mascots.
Logical reasoning for handwriting: The brain processes information differently when the motor cortex engages in fine motor skills. It forces linear thinking. My thoughts, left unchecked, run in seventeen parallel threads at once. This slows them to a manageable crawl.
Started the morning calibrating the Lair's secondary water filtration system. City upgraded their chloramine levels again. If I don't compensate, the humidity in here will trigger Leo's allergies, and he'll blame it on "dust from my projects." False. The dust is sentimentary. I catalogued it.
Side Note: Chloramine reacts with copper piping. Or pipes are mostly salvaged brass from a 1940s boiler. I should synthesize a chelating agent. Or steal it. Stealing is faster.
Great, I sound like a criminal. Journaling is mind-boggling sometimes.
Ran a diagnostic on Shell 5 (my laptop). The fan is making a sound at 412HZ, that harmonic from a misaligned bearing. I fixed it with a drop of sewer machine oil from April's emergency kit. She'll never notice. I left a note in binary on the kit's lid. She'll notice that at least. She'll pretend to be annoyed, Then she'll smile. I logged that as a "social variable confirmed."
Note to self: Don't analyze that any further. Not productive.
Breakfast. Instant miso soup. Calculated the optimal microwave time to avoid boiling the delicate umami compounds. 47 seconds. Raph walked in, glared at the microwave like it insulted his weight, eating a cold hot dog. He called me a "nerd" again. He thinks I can't hear. If only these guys understood the value of enhanced hearing. Whatever, his comments don't surprise me anymore. Just like Mikey's flatulent problems don't faze me anymore.
Primary Project. Integrating a phased plasma relay into the retro-mutagen synthesizer. The current iteration takes 18 hours to process a single viable sample. That's unacceptable. If Leo gets hit again, we don't have 18 hours. We have minutes.
Problem: The relay overheats at 89ºC.
Solution: Submersion in a non-conductive coolant bath. I'm using mineral oil harvested from three abandoned transformers in the old Metro-North tunnels. The math checks out:
Heat capacity of mineral oil: 1.67 KJ (kg・K)
Required dissipation: 450W peak
I built a prototype out of a fish tank pump and a repurposed coffee urn. Mikey saw it, asked if it was "caffeinated mutagen." No. Michelangelo Though now I'm considering the psychoactive properties of.....No. Focus.
Side note: Mikey's comment during the explanation: "You've been watching Flubber too many times."
Younger Siblings and their primitive opinions.
Small explosion. Not a real explosion. A " rapid unscheduled thermal vent." The pump's impeller shattered. Cause: microscopic fatigue fractures from previous use. The pump was from 2003. I should have stress-tested. I wrote myself a disciplinary note in a margin. Harsh but fair.
Debris cleaned. Burnt mineral oil smell like a deep fryer having a crisis. Raph shouted from the dojo.
"Liar!!!" He replies back. Agitation setting in with my less than intellectual beefhead brother. Often times I wonder which one of us got dropped the most at birth. Raph or Mikey.
For sanity sake, the jury is out on Mikey.
Raph comes in and sees the blackened coffee urn, turns to me,"Ya need betta junk!"
Then proceeds to drop a box of salvaged hard drives on my desk. No note. He just left. That's his version of saying 'I Love You.' I recorded the coordinates of where he found them for later analysis.
Switched to a secondary task while the soldering iron cools. Re-coded the Lair's motion sensor grid. Right now, it treats Mikey as three separate intruders when he does that spining thing on his board. I've written a new algorithm: Intruder/Non-Intruder/ Orange. It now correctly identifies him as 1.2 threats instead of 3.0.
*As hes typing away, he realizes hes pulled a Double-D move in his dairy logs*
Hehehe, silly me. I apparently logged my more enhanced thoughts in the incorrect section of my monitors.
Translation for my brothers who happened to get this far: I opened the wrong folder for my diary entries.
