I assemble the perfect day with the help of Victor Frankenstein. He's doing more abstract stuff now, making people wasn't really working out. First he had me make lists. Lists of what I wanted excluded, of what I wanted included, of nice things that could be included but didn't need to be. Then he fed them into some terrible-looking machine, but although it looked terrible it was making comforting sounds. I thought of asking him why he still wore the white lab coat, as I was suspecting it was completely superfluous, just affectation, but then I thought better of asking. I wouldn't want to be asked anything similar. For one thing the answer would be complicated, and it would be hard not to just present a simplified explaination which did me a disservice.
Next he sat me down at his desk and got me to do various personality tests and things on his computer. I'm sure he must have chosen the ones that would get him what he needed to know, but I found some of his choices exasperating. You know the sort of thing. Which cantata by Johann Sebastian Bach are you? But I decided that he probably knew what he was doing, rather than just being odd. If he was just being odd he'd still be doing the people, wouldn't he? Maybe not, I don't know. I didn't really have any way of making an informed judgment about it, and I didn't really have a bad feeling about it, misgivings, sure, but I have misgivings about lots of things, but not even I, author of Feel The Fear And Turn Around And Walk The Other Way, avoid everything I have misgivings about. I'd hardly ever have any fun if I did that.
That night I slept in his lab, with wires in my head. It was hard getting to sleep with the anticipation, I had to take sleeping pills. The morning after next I awoke sort of stunned. Memories that seemed like they would stay with me for a long time, some of them I'd rather weren't there. It was sort of like I'd been hit by a bus. Without being killed. It was like some amazing dream, good and bad.
Over breakfast he asked me how I was feeling, and we chatted. It was nice to be chatting, and it was nice to be having breakfast. He had the logs there for me to read if I wished. I took a look at them. I'd got up at five forty-five, had a quick shower, got dressed and got some breakfast together, then somehow from six until nine I'd been listening to The Today Programme on Radio 4 and Good Morning Scotland on Radio Scotland and writing my column for the New York Times and writing a first draft another chapter to do with a mercenary captured by sausage dogs that was up to scratch, and dealing with emails. I don't understand how I could do all that at once but I don't remember it seeming confusing. Then I went down to the gym and had a good workout, then I showered, changed and went into town.
I didn't read it all because glancing through it I started seeing stuff I wasn't proud of. Am I really that shallow? According to Victor Frankenstein's machine, yes, in part, I am. On the whole it was a shocking experience, but I would recommend it to you, as long as you don't have a fragile ego and you know when you're being a monster.