11 May 2027
Tuesday. I have measured every jar in the laboratory, in case the north should call.
The company has promised Brisbane a laboratory in the first half of the year. It is May. I know what a half is. I have been standing by the door with a suitcase for weeks, and the staff have started hanging their coats on me.
Nobody will tell me the street. Nobody will tell me the day. I have been told only that when it is decided, it will be written down on this very website, on a page of its own, which is more than anyone ever did for me in Ingolstadt.
In the meantime I have prepared a speech for the Queensland assistants. It explains the bargain: they help me wake the Subject before the storm moves on, and they go home. It is a good speech. It is the same speech I give in every city. Geniuses do not need new material.
In the margin: I have packed my own suitcase. It contains a pencil, the paper crown and a very small umbrella, because I have read about Brisbane afternoons. I do not know whether I am going. Nobody tells the creature anything, so I have written it down here, where somebody might.
— V. Frankenstein
