Who writes my stuff?

Google tells me that they have some new Blogger themes. Cool! I check them out. They show me a sample post in the new theme. Weird! It’s titled “On my deathbed, take I and take II.” You’d think they’d show me a post from my blog, and not someone random POS.

Wait a minute.

Did I write that? I check the blog. There’s the post. WTF?

If you’d asked me: “Did you write a post by that name” I would have denied it. But now have the faintest memory of having written it—but only because I must have. It’s in my blog. I read it.It’s in my style. But I remember it the way I remember things that I’ve have dreamed or thought about. The post is about an imaginary experience that I imagine changing my life. My memory of writing that post is about as clear as my memory of what I wrote about. And that never happened.

So who wrote that post?

I do some checking. I remember the prior post (shaggy dog stories), and the one before that (awesome workflow) and the one before that (fuck you facebook) but not the deathbed one.

And if there’s one of those posts that I would actually have wanted to remember writing, that would be the one. And fuck you facebook too, because—fuck you facebook. But I remember that one. And yet, after writing:

“I’ve always felt that my life purpose was to gain knowledge and to pass that knowledge on. And as I contemplated that future day, the day that has finally arrived, I felt that I’d failed in my purpose. That was the feeling. The reality is that I had not failed. I’d just done a sucky job relative to what I honestly believed myself capable of.

“So I rededicated myself to my purpose. I started writing what I knew, and publishing what I wrote. I resolved to be like Alexander Hamilton: ‘Why does he write like he’s running out of time? Writes day and night, like he’s running out of time?’

“There’s always more to do, always more to write about. You never stop learning—until you die. And now it’s…
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I remember nothing and I write nothing! Nearly two weeks. And nothing.

I joke about “Auto Mike,” a conditioned version of myself. So here’s my theory: Auto Mike wrote it. After three prior posts, probably written by Auto Mike but with me supervising, I let him fly solo.

Who else could write a post that so accurately reflects my views, but which I don’t remember writing?

Who decided that I needed to write like I was running out of time?

Clearly, the answer is Auto Mike.

And he’s right. I’m running out of time. Why don’t I write like I’m running out of time?

Hey, Auto Mike, you’re running out of time, too. Why don’t you write like you’re running out of time?

I wrote this post. I probably got some help from Auto Mike, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve written most of it. Some of it.

Now the question is: will I remember writing this in two weeks?

Edit: It’s two weeks later, and I remember. Yay.

Edit: Just kidding. It isn’t two weeks later. I wrote that, and this, and the post on the same day. We’ll see what happens in two weeks.

If I remember. Or if Auto Mike does.

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