Transplanted Life
Saturday, August 09, 2003
Weekends are going to be tough.

During the week, Michelle's got a job, so my time's pretty full, and maybe I'll do something after work with Kate & Jen, or I'll just come home and sit in front of the game. But on during the weekend, if there aren't any errands to run, I can't be "Michelle the secretary", but just "Michelle the girl", and I don't know how to do that. I mean, sure, in a literal sense I can't help but do it, but this morning, I picked up the local alterna-rag, and I couldn't think of something a single girl on a limited budget would do. Then I chided myself for worrying about whether Michelle would be into it or not, but I really don't feel like calling attention to myself.

So I've just been sitting around the apartment all day, surfing the web and stuff. One thing that's kind of aggravating is that Michelle doesn't even own any books or subscribe to any magazines. The obvious problem is that there's nothing for me to read, but it's also a reminder of how I know nothing about her. I was thinking about this, and my latest crackpot theory is that Michelle didn't actually exist until a month or so ago - that this body's some kind of clone or genetic engineering (maybe done by one of BioSoft's clients), and my brain patterns have been plunked into it as a clean slate.

The scary part of this theory is that it would likely mean that my body was either dumped or still had the "original" me inside, and there'd be no way for me to get back. That's silly, of course - I met Michelle in a bar, not some mad scientist's laboratory, and she wasn't acting like a zombie then. Besides, if there was another me out there, wouldn't it be updating this blog itself about what he was doing in my new job and how great it was to see the Mariners beat the Yankees today? Whoever had put my mind in her head would have to somehow intercept my email and phone calls to myself, too, though, so they might just somehow be intercepting this blog. It's not like I'm getting email in response to it, so how's that for a theory? "Real" Martin Hartle is out there, doing whatever he's doing, happily updating his blog, and my mother, Kurt, Wei, and everyone else he knows are reading that. But when I try to access, either from work or here, it gets redirected to this second page, which only I and whoever's running this experiment can see. Maybe they targeted me that way - people expect me to leave, and I'm already keeping a journal, so they'll be able to get analysis of what's going on with me while it happens. It's not too far-fetched, once you accept that my mind could be put in someone else's body.

Then again, when I went to the bathroom this morning, I noticed Michelle's body had started its period. Maybe that makes her (or whoever's using her brain) paranoid.

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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