ep19 - within these walls

So tonight I woke up, as I always do, luckily, to the sound of my ukulele being played.

It's a nice way to wake up, to be honest, and it was, you know, my ukulele sounds pretty great.

But when my brain left the state of being half awake, half asleep, I thought,

wait a minute, who's playing my ukulele?

So I sat up and looked straight into what I first thought was a mirror.

Because sitting on the end of my bed playing my ukulele was me.

Different clothes, but still very much me.

Good evening, he said.

He said it in Norwegian, but I will retell it translated, you know, in case you great divers from the far future are a team of international researchers.

So anyway, I replied to myself.

I said, what? And he told me not to worry, that he understood my confusion.

You know, he was too, once.

So I said, thank you for understanding, but who are you? I am me, he said.

Nothing short of exactly that.

Which made sense, you know, I am me also.

So I gave him a compliment on how well he played the ukulele, because one can be both impressed and confused at the same time.

So I told him, you know, I still don't understand though, are you a copy? No, he said.

So I asked him, are you a robot built by Thomas Grind? Oh, no, no, no, he said.

I really hope not.

Are you? He asked.

Which is a question I haven't thought about until I asked it or he asked it.

And I said, I also hope not.

I said, I mean, I put salt on my food.

I don't think a machine would cope with salt.

Ingrid sure doesn't.