Transplanted Life
Thursday, January 29, 2004
So, I sent an email to "Martin Hartle" asking for my stuff back.

I don't know if he'll even read it - I did the whole "request receipt" thing and haven't seen one come back yet - but if I'm going to settle in here and be Michelle Garber for the rest of my life, then I might as well get comfortable.

I know, I've got no legal right to it, and it might be healthier just to make a clean break, but darn it, I want my toys and comics and books and movies. Sure, not having the first two Lord Of The Rings movies on my shelf (and they're arguably there in part because my old brain had poor impulse control) reduces the temptation to buy the third next summer. But, man, I wanted to play Tempest 2000 last night, which would mean going through the effort of finding an Atari Jaguar on ebay, paying for it, hoping it's not defective, getting the game in what would probably be a second auction, and spending money on the same thing for a second time. I know that, technically, if you think of me as a different person than either the original Martin or Michelle, as is probably the case, I wouldn't, but with the memory there, it will still feel like it. And the Muppet figures are killing me. I want the complete set, which I had.

Now, I don't expect the guy in my old body to just ship a metric shitload of stuff cross-country for free, but I did offer to send him anything from his old life that he might miss. Sure, he'd have to tell me who he was or just give me a hint via what he wants, but maybe he won't think of that.

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