When It Rains It Pours

The facination with this entire business was akin to that of drivers passing a terrible wreck on the interstate. You find this morbid side of you that you had no idea existed.
In our case I think that it was so incomprehensibley stupid. We were simple paranormal investigators, how could we hope to pass as FBI agents? We would not even be able to find our way to our own office.
If the show were an accurate rending of our other selves lives..I had an idea it was in the basement and that in this life as that, I lack the due amount of respect and appreciation I should have bestowed upon me.
The flight to DC was strange. I looked in my briefcase to find out a bit more about this me that I now had to live with. You have no idea what it is like, to look the same, have the same name, the same friends and co-workers, but to be living, in effect, anothers life. And the question that begged answer was, where was this other me while I was here, occupying his space and life? Was he now finding himself in MY life? How does one stop being an FBI agent who has a TV program built around his life and everyday events like the movie Scully told me about earlier, about a child born to be entertainment, follwed through every event by hidden cameras having no private moments. Was it that way for this Mulder? Was he aware of being on tv?

If there is this reality, and mine, where if there is a tv show called x-files, I am not aware of it, is there yet another where it is just a show and actors play the fictionalized Mulder and Scully? Has anything changed for them, or, by some cosmic twist, did the actors end up in our lives, and the other true Mulder and Scully end up in the fictionalized version, where surely, should they say who they are, they will be institutionalized. I fear this flight ending. When it does, we must try to be something we are not.

The plane suddenly shuddered. A bit a really bad turbulance...the tones sounded and the seat belt lights flickered on. It had been an uneventful flight til then. The plane felt now like it was rolling over a washboard highway, vibrating in a very disconcerting manner. It had turned into a white knuckle affair just that quick. I hate flying.

As quickly as this started, it ended, the sky around us cleared and the pilots voice sounded over the loud speaker. "Sorry about that folks! The sky is clear, we are flying at .. oh...36 thousand feet and we are approaching our destination. It's 85 degrees in Los Angeles, no rain in the forecast."
"Why is he telling us the weather in L.A.?" Scully asked.
"No idea!" I said, looking out my little porthole window.
Desert was what I could see, no small towns, just mountains. "Um, Scully?" I said, questioningly, "Is there a desert I am not aware of anywhere close to D.C.?"
My eyes were on the window, and Scully leaned violently across me, knocking the air from me momentarily.
"Oh God!..its happening again!"
"What?" the look she gave me straightened any waves I had in any hair on my body.
"Mulder, how can you be so obtuse?!"
"Yes..we are approaching Los Angeles...no, wait, "she said.."maybe we boarded the wrong plane, yeah, thats it!"
Digging in my jacket pocket, I produced my plane ticket receipt. "Oh Crap!"
"What, 'oh crap'?" she said.
"The ticket that clearly said D.C. earlier, now says Los Angeles"
"When it rains, Mulder, it just pours, doesn't it?"

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