Transplanted Life
Monday, November 07, 2005
No news is utterly maddening
Neither of my bodies or brains has ever been really good at manufacturing the hormone that allows one to patiently wait for something to happen; as soon as I'm about fifteen minutes into not having any control over something, a witch's brew of anxiety starts coursing through my veins causing me to wonder what the hell is taking so long. Of course, that's assuming that patience is primarily physiological. I may just be a brat because I grew up an only child.

Sure, I've lived with my life being fundamentally mysterious for two-plus years, but that's something to get used to, not a test where I'm waiting for results. And I suppose that if I got news tomorrow that something had happened so that Michelle sending her friends email didn't matter to me, personally, I would suddenly take on a zen-like attitude of whatever happening, happening.

At least I heard back from Mags today; she got some extra lab time and was able to verify that the stuff from the refrigerator was nothing more threatening than some kind of flour used for making pasta; apparently you want that to be finer than the flour you use to make bread, or cookies, or whatever else people who actually bake might come up with.

Not that Maggie could tell me that much; she just verified that there was nothing in it with an especially high molecular weight like the nanomachines have, or anything that reacted strangely with neural tissue cell samples. After I found that out, I called Mo, and she said she'd totally forgotten about her pasta flour.

Less news on the emails from Michelle. The Feds have verfied that they were sent from an overseas ISP, but that's all they're telling me. Apparently they don't want it immediately spread all over the internet.

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