Transplanted Life
Friday, September 30, 2005
The roommate shuffle
The last couple days have been busy at Casa del Hart, with Mo and Anna busily packing Maureen's life up and putting it in boxes. Today, I gather, would be spent on putting the boxes in the back of a truck owned by one of Maureen's siblings and hauling it down the road to Inman Square.

It's strange to be disconnected from that. Maureen and I have been sharing and apartment for over a year, and it's been a dramatic fifteen months for us - we both came out of the closet, in our own way; I discovered I had a biological brother; our other roommate (and her then-girlfriend) did the mind-exchange thing with my old body. And it just struck me, today, that I don't really know how Maureen's family is reacting to her shacking up with Anna. I imagine they'd like Anna, if they got to know her, but I can't imagine them getting to know her, and if there's been any formal introduction/clearing the air, it hasn't happened here. Evidently someone who shares DNA with her is relatively okay with it, since they're helping her move. I must admit, the voyeuristic tendencies that cause one to create and read blogs have me wanting to know what the drama is.

When I get home tonight, the place will be half-empty, and I'll re-discover just how little I have in terms of kitchen supplies, cleaning materials, etc. (Fortunately, all the electronics is mine) Heck, there's a good chance I'll have to hit the supermarket because I've got no idea how much of the food in the fridge Maureen considers hers (we weren't big into labeling) and took with her. I'll have the Replay recording Red Sox-Yankees: Baseball Ragnarok III while heading out to the Brattle to see an Alex de la Iglesia double feature, but the apartment will be empty while I stay up to the wee hours to watch it.

It won't stay that way for long; Miss Gertrude Rubin is moving in tomorrow. She'll be taking the larger room and thus paying $50 more in rent than I am. We'll see what we're short on after she gets unpacked and hit the hardware store if necessary.

It should be fun, I think. She seems really nice, we share interests, and it should be cool to hang out.


-who just now remembers that the shower curtain is Maureen's.
Monday, September 26, 2005
What's scary is how little it actually matters to me.
Agent Jones called today. Dimitri Gubanov is dead.

He doesn't think it's got anything to do with me. Apparently nobody in prison liked him, either, and he got a knife in the back. They're going to perform an autopsy anyway, make sure there are no little nanobuggers in his brain or bloodstream or anything. Be a nifty way to escape prison, wouldn't it, if you don't mind the new physiology and haven't come to the understanding that you wouldn't be yourself.

He didn't talk at all during his incarceration. That used to get me so angry, back when I didn't look at having my mind switched back as being a kind of death. Now, I have to say, honestly, I don't worry about it. I let the FBI work on tracking the actual inventor or manufacturer of this technology down, since I'm mostly cool with who I am and don't really think about becoming Martin Hartle once more. It's just practical stuff about living my current life, getting it squared away officially, that concerns me now. I don't think I've even thought of Dimitri in a couple of months. Which is strange, given how responsible he is for me being who and what I am.

So, anyway, ongoing investigation. Creepy, since it's someone that I know, and I think of Alexei in his coma having no idea he's outlived his son.


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