It's often handy for work to have a digitally enhanced memory, though now I can't remember what that work is because the Firewire stick I plug into my neck has crashed and I don't know who or where I am.
All I can access now are disassociated fragments of corrupted files and what little I can dredge up from my actual brain. This means that the only things I currently know about myself for certain are that I had a pet dog called Red when I was nine, I once got told to piss off while trying to get Ian Botham's autograph, and I don't like Cadbury's Cream Eggs. It's not much of a life but it's all I have now.
I've had to hide myself away in this room because everyone I see could be my best friend, my worst enemy, or my wife.
I think I had one of those yesterday, or ten years ago, or however long I've been here, though it could equally be a corrupted image of someone I've never met.
I can remember the basics, like eating, drinking, going to the toilet. All that seems to be provided for me in this room but I don't know how or why or by whom. Am I on holiday or in prison? I've no way of knowing.
Maybe I didn't shut myself in here after all because sometimes...
Sometimes I think people are talking to me but they can't be real. If they are then I've totally and irrevocably lost my mind because I can't understand anything they say.
Why don't I leave the room?
I'm scared.
This may all be a dream, I've no way of knowing.
Maybe I've always been like this. I think I used to be normal but maybe that's an illusion. Maybe I'm just mad. After all, surely you'd have to be mad to allow yourself to be turned into a computer? Maybe I did something awful and this is my punishment.
I'm hungry now, I hope some food will arrive soon.
If the people are real, why won't they tell me where my mind is?