I was sick for almost two weeks, and I have discovered a funny thing — I have only a cursory relationship with the person who actually got sick. I’m living in his room — I have inherited a series of problems (he was in the process of getting his drivers license and such), I have some phone numbers — and various biographical facts about the people who will answer the phone if I call — and a job. All in all it fits together — I’m a role playing character on a reasonable adventure for my type and skill. What I don’t have is any firm sense of identity with this person. I know what he was doing — so it is no real trick for me to pick up where he left off — but I’m not at all sure who he was — and I don’t think that I agree at all with what he thought was important.
Of course it doesn’t matter – because since I am occupying the place where he was — he is obviously dead — there is no other place for him to be.
Since he is dead — I find myself in an interesting ethical conundrum — what do I owe his memory? I have inherited some thousands of pages of notes — do I owe it to him to read those notes and try and figure out what he was doing? Or should I just toss them and start from scratch? Should I keep the books that he thought were interesting on my shelves? Or should I displace them as I discover my own taste? I don’t particularly like how he dressed — but all his clothes fit me — and he doesn’t really have very much money. In fact — he doesn’t appear to have much of anything, which makes me wonder — do I owe him anything at all?
If I just allowed his passing to go unremarked, and quietly slipped into his place (as I evidently have done physically) would anyone notice?
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