Intermediary Observation Report #001: Week 1

06.13.2010
8.30 pm

I signed off with Customer Servitron 1174 and pulled the InterStellarNet keyboard jack out of my ear (which isn't as horrible as it sounds). The tech offered to install a jack elsewhere, but I told him, "the less you have to wiggle your interstellar screwdriver or whatever the hell that thing is, the better"--and frankly, I think an argument could be made that it counts as probing, which is strictly prohibited in my contract with AARG. But okay, what's done is done, so let's just move on.

The response was obviously a form letter, but I'm sure they're up to their variously constructed ocular cavities with freelance alien subjects on the fritz. Frankly, "become a miserable heap of meat" sounds perfectly horrifying and not at all "fun and adventurous and for the Ultimate Good of all interstellar beings throughout Space and Time (which isn't linear, you know)," which is what the brochure from the recruiter promised when I signed on. But again, what's done is done. I've got the jack and the microchip whoosie, so I guess I'm in it now.

I have read and reread the instructions about fifty times. I've opened all the boxes of stuff they sent, and I have no idea how to even start. Seriously, how am I supposed to change everything about my entire life in twenty-one days?

Maybe it'll just work itself out. Maybe it was a one-time glitch. Maybe if I just go to sleep early tonight, get a good night's rest, it'll be better tomorrow.

***
6.14.2010
6.17 am

Woke up screaming again this morning. This time, it took an entire half hour to stop. That's a long time to scream.

I made an appointment with my Earth doctor for tomorrow. The receptionist sounded annoyed that I insisted on such short notice, but I think she got the picture when I started hyperventilating. So tomorrow it is. AARG tech support can suck it.

***
6.15.2010
11.47 am

More screaming, more vacuum dreams, and this morning I added "crying" to the show. It was a full two hours before I could get out of bed. I waited until the last minute before my appointment with Dr. Doctor*, then hauled myself over there.

The whole time I was waiting in her office, I noticed myself noticing things that I normally wouldn't have noticed. For example, this little old lady walked past me to get a cup of water from the cooler, and I immediately knew she was 5 feet, 1.374 inches tall. I don't know how I knew that, but I did. I was overcome with the certainty and an accompanying urge to write it down in the notebook AARG gave me for field notes. So now I guess I can add "spontaneously noticing units of measurement and being compelled to write them down" to my list of symptoms. Clearly, I wasn't going to tell Dr. Doctor about that.

When she asked why I was there, I told her I'd been having some trouble sleeping and was generally feeling crappy.

"Define 'feeling crappy,' " she said. "That's pretty vague. I don't think there are any specific tests or treatment for that."

I told her, "You know, just...crappy. Really run down, like beyond normal run down. Like I feel thirsty, and I know I have juice in the fridge, and the fridge is only about four feet away, but I think to myself, 'Eh, four feet. Too far. Can't get there. Forget it, I'll make more spit."

She blinked at me. "Okay, so you're fatigued. Any soreness? Rash? Vomiting?"

"Yes," I said. "I'm fatigued out of my mind. No rash or vomiting."

"What else?" She had me lie down on the table and felt around my neck and abdomen.

"I'm having trouble sleeping. Nightmares, specifically. About being stuck in a vacuum. And my entire body just feels...slow. Wrong."

She stopped prodding and asked if I had eaten anything or done anything or gone anywhere out of the ordinary in the last few weeks.

"Nope. Just working, you know. I'm still a secretary. Administrative assistant, I mean. Haven't done anything out of the ordinary." Except the alien technology thing. Which I didn't mention, of course.

Dr. Doctor got up, put her glasses on, and typed some notes into her laptop. Lots of notes. For a while.

"Um, hello?" I said. "Do you think it's serious?"

She looked at me over the rims of her glasses and said, "Well, yes and no. You're in your early thirties, you're locked up in an office all day working forty hours a week or more, and you drink a pot and a half of coffee a day. You're out of shape, you smoke like a fiend, and you generally don't take very good care of yourself. It's bound to catch up with you sometime."

"Right," I said. "When you say it like that, it sounds pretty lame."

"Take a yoga class or something. Eat some food, drink some water. Quit smoking, for the love of god. It's so 1950s. I'm telling you, you'll feel amazing."

"Right," I said.

"I'll get back to you with your blood test results, but I think it's a minor midlife crisis. Suck it up, sister, we all go through it. Do the right things for yourself, and you'll feel better."

She looked at me a little strangely when I asked for three copies of all the lab results, but she promised to fax them to me. So at least that means no glowing alien needles or whatever. Customer Servitron 1174 will be smarmy about it anyway, I'm sure.

*Names have been changed.

***
6.15.2010
4.45 pm

It seems to be getting worse. Vacuum dream, screaming, crying, headache, general feeling of itchiness all over, but also specifically inside my brain, which is very disconcerting. Like I want to take my brain out and soak it in an oatmeal bath.

I've got no choice but to perform the reboot. I'm not sure I'll make it but I have to try. For the Ultimate Good of the blah blah blah, etc. Because even though I'm just one infinitesimal speck when you think about how big the universe is, still, I'm the only speck I've got. It seems a shame to let it all end in an unfortunate meat pile. Besides, I'm looking forward to jamming Customer Servitron with as many forms and tickets as possible.