Google Reader informs me that someone with my name died today in Florida. At age 40, and so close to my birthday.
The Florida me probably had a time of it if he lived there for any period, as there was another me in that state some time ago. Remember the homeless me who won a cool million from a McDonald's contest? Druggie, woman-beater, me. It must have gotten old after a while.
Back home it was the same, my alma mater sending bills for unpaid tuition fifteen years overdue. Closer inspection showed a more current date and different middle initial, not to mention age. Rent-A-Center wanted their furnishing back as well. Maybe it was the me who just bit it, but probably not, as there are many, many more.
Like the me who diddled some woman who worked in the stationery store. She called me to ask where I had made off to. I could not convince her that it wasn't me me, and to this day I wonder how she described my physical attributes with such accuracy.
Yesterday, the more literary of the two Professor Mes briefly looked at my website. I'm assuming it was him, or perhaps a colleague of his, in which case, he might be advised to watch himself, academia being what it is at times. Again, I'm assuming, as my experience in "publish or perish" mode is as an outsider who has no fear of refused tenure. Impermanence, well yes, to a point.
Let me get that door for me.