Good morning, John! I woke up this morning at about 3am, without the ability to move. Here's the story behind that. I've been having a really sort of silly nightmare about ghosts. And when I'm having nightmares, sometimes I can make myself wake up, and sometimes I can make myself realize that it's a dream and then do stuff in the dream, to be like, that's not real, obviously. And that's what I had done. I just undid this button. Because I felt like I was too stuffy. They call that lucid dreaming, when you're in a dream, but you are lucid. And it's awesome, but sometimes when you wake up from a lucid dream, your body has been, like, physically in the dream state, and so you don't realize that you're still inside of your body, which is weird, so you can't move and also you don't know where your body is, you've lost the sense of proprioception, and that lasts a few seconds, and then you realize where your body is, and you can move around again, though weakly for a while, I don't know what that's about. Anyway, no amount of sleep paralysis has made me want to stop lucid dreaming, though, uh, and to be fair to my 13 year old self, I understand the motivation. The first time I had a lucid dream, true story, I spent the rest of the dream grabbing boobs. Just walking around, grabbing girls' boobs. I was 13. And now that you all have that unfortunate insight into my profoundly heterosexual psyche, let's move on! So yeah, I can dream lucidly, but then when I wake up, I can't move, and uh, if you would like to leave in the comments what devastating diseases I should be worrying about having because of this, that would be great. So then I went to sleep again. And then I woke up, at a normal time, and then we went to take on Friday Harbor on San Juan Island. I asked Katherine what I should do my video about today, and without even thinking about it, apparently, she said 'the improbability of place'. That's my girl! And it is! It's very strange that this place exists. And I suppose we can say that for all places. It's like when Doctor Manhattan realizes the genetically improbable miracle of Laurie Jupiter. San Juan islands are kind of like that. The volcano that erupted, the glaciers that scoured the mineral deposits that brought industry to the islands, the water that rose up to meet the coastline, the petty diplomatic squabbles that made that land Canada and this land America, the evolutionary mysteries that led salmon to go out to sea and then come back to the rivers to spawn, thus drawing resident pods of orca to feed on salmon, 25 per day, the oldest orca among them over a hundred years old having eaten 800,000 salmon in her life, and the fishing village, seamlessly converted into an all-encompassing tourist destination with spas and hotels and fancy little shops. How did the world conspire to make this place? The answer, of course, is that the world didn't conspire to make this place. It's always been clear to me that Laurie Jupiter is not objectively a miracle. What's miraculous is the love between her and the remnant of Jon Osterman that still exists inside of Doctor Manhattan and it's not going to make any sense, none of this, if you haven't read Watchmen, which you should do! The miracle of creation is only miraculous because of how we fit into it, how we mold ourselves into it, how we become a part of it, how it fits over us like skin. What makes this place a miracle is the relationship that we have with it. And that's what makes each one of us so wonderful, too. The relationships that we have with our world, with the land, with the animals, with each other, with ourselves. Not because of the infinite improbability of it all, though it is all infinitely improbable, but because we can't imagine anything cooler, we can't imagine loving anything more. Doctor Manhattan could imagine all of the other probabilities, but he couldn't imagine any Laurie Jupiter that he would love more than the one that he had. That's what love is, people. Katherine, I love you. John, I will see you on Monday.