his afternoon I flipped past the National Geographic Channel's Mummy Road Show just in time to catch this intriguing episode about the mummy of this woman who killed her husband and several other men around 1900 and later committed suicide. Apparently she was embalmed and put on display, and then she was handed down through this family until her current owner decided to cremate her. But the mummy experts on this show were going to look at her first.

One of the things they discovered through the X-ray was that she had probably had a child. "Oh, there's probably living decendants of this woman somewhere" one of the experts said. I thought this was pretty dumb, since no one had ever had record of this child, and given the times it seemed a lot more likely that the baby died in childbirth or soon after. I guess that's why they are experts only in dead people.

Anyway, at the end of the episode they convinced the owner to just bury (not really the right word) the mummy in one of those plots that's in a big granite wall so they could get her back out an perform an autopsy at a later date. I felt kind of sorry for the mummy. It didn't feel like she was getting a proper burial; she was just going to get poked and prodded and stared at again. Well, of course, out of that, I wrote about seven pages of a new story pretty much based on the poor girl and the sad story of how she became a mummy and then what happened to her afterwards. It's kind of weird. I'm writing weird stories lately, I've noticed. Maybe it's because the plot of my thesis novel is so unweird (well, at least there are no mummies narrating the story or girls shedding skin like a snake; it COULD really happen).

I babble a lot when it's late, don't I?