Profane-tmesis.

A week in the life of

I feel strange when I emerge from the scanner. I guess it’s not really an MRI scanner any more, but it still feels like I’ve had an eight hour scan under some heavy narcotics. My thoughts are slow, undefined. Does this mean the experiment has worked? I try to check myself for new memories. The score of tomorrow’s Lakers game, that’s objective one. If anything survived the transfer, that did.

113-110. Am I just making that up? The drugs, coupled with a little wishful thinking could easily induce false memories. Then I catch myself off guard. I remember having false memories the first time, and they didn’t feel like this. This time it’s different. What first time? This is the first time. But it’s all right there now, clear as day. I got up out of the scanner, tested my memory, fooled myself a few times and finally, concluded that nothing had been transferred.

I spent some time on the balcony, smoking a few cigarettes, and thinking things over. It was cold, I remember that very vividly, but I wanted to stay out to smoke. I’m staying in now, so as not to confuse the two experiences. Take a different path, keep the memories distinct.

By the fifth cigarette, I had talked myself out of the sinking feeling of another failed experiment. My savings gambled away on a fantasy. No. there were plenty of options. I simply hadn’t made the transmission yet. Not from my perspective anyway. The loop has to start somewhere, so at first, the experiment can’t work. I resolved to follow the protocols I’d designed until the day of transmission and carry out the experiment as diligently as I could.

Now I’m inside, looking out at the balcony, where I was standing. Last week from my perspective, but the exact same moment in time.

The memorization protocol didn’t start officially until the results of the Lakers game are announced, but I couldn’t sleep, so I broke protocol, and started memorizing some of the random number feeds off the internet. That was a few hours from now. I’ll be able to check soon.

I remember most of the sequences quite clearly. I go to a preregistration site, and provide an encrypted record, together with timestamps. I don’t expect to require that level of evidence—the experiment seems repeatable—it’s mostly to ensure against hallucination. Who knows what damage I’ve done to my brain. Couple that with the power of suggestion, and a little paranoia is warranted.

I watch the feed, and the numbers come out just as I remembered. No need to compare with the prereg. My mind is crystal clear now. I have successfully transmitted my memories back in time. I remember the entire week ahead with astonishing clarity, just as if I’d lived it. The memories are just as clear as the ones I actually experienced one week before. I mean last week. My last week. You know what I mean.

I spend the week locked in the lab. It seems best to avoid interactions with others during the experiment. Think of it as a sort of causal isolation. Three miles to the next living soul, and nothing but atmospheric noise in between.

I intend to repeat the experiment at the end of the week. The prereg stands as proof of my accomplishment, but I realize that I’m in a unique position. Normally, when a scientist makes a discovery, they are required to rush to publication, for fear of being scooped. Rarely do we get a chance to really explore the phenomenon we’ve discovered. Rarely do we have time on our side.

The protocol calls for me to memorize the number sequences, but I know those already. It takes little time to revise a whole week’s worth, even the ones that haven’t happened yet. It takes a full day to reset the scanner to transmit. A thought occurs to me. Marconi, Edison, Morse, I have one advantage over them. I must be the first inventor of a means of information transmission who hasn’t needed to build a separate transmitter and receiver. In fact, if the scanner didn’t stay in exactly the same place, relative to the reference coils that line the walls of my lab, none of this would work at all.

I struggle at first to fill the rest of the week until transmission. I spend some of it drafting the first publication of my results, until I realize the futility; if I repeat the experiment, all this will have to be redone. I can’t take anything with me except what I remember. I decide instead to read. First some of the recent literature, but the excitement of my impending contribution makes it difficult to fully concentrate. Then, some literature. The books I’ve never had time for. I start with a Raymond Chandler novel. Given to me by an ex-girlfriend. I’d always meant to start it, but the work got in the way.

I read right up to the start of the transmission. When time comes, I put the book down, without folding the corner of the page, as I usually do. This time I’ll have to remember the page number.

This is the second time. I know it almost instantly when I emerge from the field generated by the scanner....