Transplanted Life
Monday, July 21, 2003
No word from Michelle yet, even though there's no excuse for her not being able to see the messages I've left on my cell phone's voice mail by now. Apparently she's not going to contact me. This is, of course, ridiculous, but what can I do? Nothing I've found on-line seems to be of much help, and I don't even know what to search for. I've found a bunch of links to fiction, but that does me no good.

And here's a scenario none of those fiction writers ever seem to come up with: You get plopped into another person's body, but they've left no food in the house. Either Michelle eats out every night, or she knew that she wouldn't be here and didn't see any need to have anything in the cupboard. So, around five o'clock tonight, I'm starving and don't feel like touching the tofu stuff in the fridge, and thus opt to hit the supermarket.

Quite frankly, her wardrobe scares the hell out of me, so I just put on a new pair of panties and some sweats. I don't know how long women generally wear a bra, but I've had this one on since I woke up yesterday (or perhaps Saturday isn't yesterday, by the time I post this), but I didn't feel like fiddling with it. Anyway, once I'm outside, I reaize I'm not downtown any more, and walk to the Trader Joe's in Cambridge. But, of course, it takes longer than I expected and this area was founded by Puritans and thus nothing is open for very long on Sunday. So I hike further to get to the Star Market near MIT. I do some shopping, only getting a few nasty looks because of my BO (I admit it, I've been too freaked to shower), and I'm off again.

But here's the funny thing: Michelle's ID is out of date! She just moved from New Hampshire recently, I guess, nothing in her wallet has her address on it, and I wasn't smart enough to write down where she lived when I left the building. I don't even remember which part of the Green Line I passed on the way to the store! So I walk all the way back to the general part of Allston where she lived, sweating like a racehorse, and look at buildings trying to guess which one is vaguely familiar. The people in the neighborhood must have thought I was some kind of nut, trying keys in four buildings before finding the right one. Then, I at least remembered being on the third floor, but not which number. I must have spent half an hour apologizing to that family that didn't lock their door.

The upshot is, I'm dead tired, the ice cream melted all over everything before I got near Michelle's freezer, and I've just spend two hours on the internet finding nothing useful. And, guess what, I have to go to her job tomorrow. One thoroughly lousy day.

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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at