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“Would the gentleman from the eighth district of Michigan like to speak?” asked the designated officiator presiding over the chamber. A nod from the side indicated yes. “Congressmen may have fifteen minutes on the floor.”

A well groomed man came down the steps of the amphitheater from his desk to the podium. He placed his outline and notes down and looked around the room. He smirked and began to deliver his dissertation.

“When someone sits down to write a class assignment their mind begins to drift onto anything but the assignment.This is a normal behavior demonstrated by many people. Meet the people who have a disorder that makes it impossible to write with any focus at all. For instance, if they hear a bird outside they begin to write or type about everything there is about the bird. They write about the biology, the possible folk lore it might have played a part in, and even their own personal feelings towards the bird. They never get to the point and once they have exhausted themselves on the subject of the bird they move on to the twig that the bird is perched on. One might think that this is not such a tragedy because they could simply tear up the page or hit the delete button. That one would be mistaken.

“Another key detail to this newly apparent disorder is that in the mind of the patient to get rid of what they have written is to give in to the Devil. There have been documented cases where a patient has talked about erasing all they have written and even come as close as hold the paper over a flame, but never have they followed through. The most they can simply do is to crumple it up and throw it over their shoulder.

Surprisingly, all of the patients admitted that to get rid of some of their work really was not all that bad. “They considered it part of the creative process and necessary. After their admission it was quickly apparent by their hysterical laughter and nervous behavior that they didn't believe themselves for a second. It was just an attempt to appear more normal. In their minds burning or deleting their work was just as sacrilegious as burning a holy church is to us.

“For centuries, scholars and doctors alike have attributed these symptoms to a simply verbose person who holds their work to high esteem. Often times these people referred to themselves as dreamers or philosophers, and they would find work as writers, actors, and even teachers! They simply took any job that would allow them an outlet for their disorder.

“However now it is becoming quite evident that these symptoms are a problem that are a serious hinderance to both themselves and society. It is high time for this newly recognized disorder be treated and that all those afflicted be given treatment to subdue the symptoms that have caused pain for so long. I submit to you now a story as evidence of the potential danger that this disorder poses to society.”

He paused and pulled out some notes for references. He cleared his throat and continued.

“While working late in the afternoon at the clinic where I finished up my residency, a young woman strolled into the nurses station. This wouldn't have been terribly odd if she had simply stated her reason for being there, but she gave no reason and proceeded to sit in a chair. One of the nurses asked her if she were alright, but she only looked away. The nurses ignored her and worked around her.

I only found out about this woman when I came in to ask a nurse a question about another patient.

“Why is there a woman sitting there Marie?” Her appearance was beautiful, but inconsequential.

She looked over her shoulder and then back at me and whispered, “She's been there for over an hour. She won't tell us anything.”

I raised my eyebrows at this immediately. “Why didn't you tell me this sooner. She could be sick.” I brushed past her and to the woman in the chair.

“Excuse me, miss?” I squatted down to her level. I had learned that patients prefer that you do not talk down to them. “Miss, are you alright?”

Her brown eyes locked onto mine as she spread out a smile. She leapt out of her chair and wrapped her arms around me. “Dad!”
I felt the air take the express train out my lungs and a silence sweep across the room. I had to pry her arms away from me, but she didn't seem to notice. She seemed so delighted by my presence that I really didn't know how to tell her.

“Mom told me lots about you. Never did she mention how tall you are.” She walked around the counter, fingering each of the files lying there.

“Well, um...” I tried to think of all my former girlfriends and to be honest not a single one stood out. It's hard to think of that kind of thing on the spot, so I had to ask. “Who is your mother?”

She stopped, looked back up at me, and said with the calmest expressions I've ever heard, “Mom died a week ago in a car accident.”

“Are you alright?” It was mind boggling that this girl could have such good composure after having a tragedy.

“I'm fine. All I wanted to do was meet the man who impregnated my mother. Now I have.” She smiled so sweetly that it might have broken my heart if I knew her longer than five minutes. “Don't worry, I don't want anything. Just simply to meet you.” She gave another smile and shrug of the shoulders.

“Uh, um, w-would you like to go to dinner or something?” I'll never be quite sure what a man should do when a woman tells him she is his daughter. I wonder what Emily Post would have said.

“That would be nice. Thank you. Seven sound good?” I was surprised, but I figured that now was as good as any. I looked down at my watch.

“I get off in an hour, so if you'd like to stick around we can go then.” She smiled and nodded.

“Can I stay here?” She meant here in the nurses station and I looked around and saw that the nurses were hanging onto every word like watching a drama.

“It's fine by us.” said Marie, who happened to be the head nurse.

“Alright, well...see you in an hour...what is your name?” A rather obvious question, but it had never come up in the eight minutes I learned I had a daughter.

“My name is Kate. Nice to meet you Andrew, or should I say dad?” She stuck her hand out to shake mine.

“Andrew is fine.” We shook hands and I left to attend to the rest of my patients.

It seemed all well and good and I was looking forward to our dinner. I racked my brain for any memories of pregnancy being mentioned, or even the possibility by any of my ex's. I had nothing, nada, zip, zilch.

When I arrived back at the nurses station, Kate was gone. I asked the nurses if they had seen where she had gone. One of them checked the bathroom, but she wasn't there. I found Marie and asked her if she knew where Kate had gone and she told me what had happened after I left.

“Kate had come in, waited for you, and waited for you to leave. After you left she asked me if I had believed her performance. Can you believe that? She said she was researching a role and needed the experience. She needed to feel or whatever.”

My face must have lost all it's color, because Marie looked at me funny.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah fine. Did she say why she didn't stay to tell me she wasn't my daughter?”

“Oh yeah, that was the kicker. She couldn't tell you because that would mean that she lied and it wasn't true. 'It would erase the work.' she said. I told her to get out of the clinic before I called security.”

I didn't know how to act at that point. I simply nodded and headed off for the locker room. I was done and needed to go home and think.”

“Thinking is what I did and I reached a conclusion about people with this disorder. These people feel the need to create a world, no matter what cost or effect it takes on others and cannot apologize for it's existence. It shows a total disregard for other people and thus a threat to society. It does not matter how benign the situation may seem, nor is it of any concern that they lied to begin with. The gravity of the situation is in their unapologetic attitude.

“From this brief experience I learned that this girl was sick and needed to make up a story of a mother being killed in a car accident and that she was born out of wedlock to a single mother. Such a sad story and yet a seemingly happy woman. Did she really have nothing better to do?

“That is part of the danger of this disorder: that the patient can seem normal and they are like any other person, but they are not. The disorder can afflict anyone.

“So I, Congressmen Dr. Andrew Sorenson, make a motion to pass the law that allows people found with this disorder be forced to take the medicine proscribed or if they resist to be imprisoned. I know that I am of the majority on this subject, but I wanted to make my reasons clear to those who oppose this law. Just to be clear, this disorder according to the DSM-VI is called the Dreamer disorder and includes writers and idealists alike.”

“Thank you.”

He walked back up the steps and sat down at his desk. He was openly applauded by most of his colleagues. He smiled and felt proud that he was making the right decision.

“Would the gentleman from...”