FROM: LOLA12477@EARTH.BLOGSPOT.COM
To Whom It May Concern at Alien Anthropology Research Group,
Your recruiter told me to report any side-effects from the recording and researching technology you installed last week when I began my employment with you as a freelance anthropology subject. Well, this morning I noticed what you might call a major side-effect from the genetic microchip thingy.
I woke up this morning, which was just like every other morning, very normal Earth weather and all that for March in suburban New York—all kinds of trees and birds and sun, etc., the details are in my daily report. Anyway, totally regular morning, except that I was awakened by the sound of my own screaming. I had a nightmare about being sucked into a black hole. In detail. Have you ever imagined being sucked in by a black hole?
And then when I woke up from the black hole nightmare, the real life nightmare started, because now everything looks like . . . like it’s under a microscope or something, and I know things I shouldn’t know, like my neighbor who heard me screaming and knocked on my door, Mary, she’s precisely 80.2512 years old and exactly 5 feet, 1.374 inches tall. I don't know how I know that, but I do. I have an unmanageable urge to poke people with something sterile, you know, so I can analyze, quantify, and record. It’s disconcerting. To say the least.
I can eat, work, evacuate, emote, sleep, etc. All my basic systems are functional. But the sensory overload is turning me into a sweating, crying, screaming rage ball. Point is, I think your tech guy jiggled something when he installed the micro-whoosie. Some backed-up synapses or misfiring synapses or something else is otherwise majorly tweaked out.
I want to talk to tech support. Now. Please.
Sincerely,
Lola
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