Martin Picard’s Mitochondrial Theory of Mind
24th July 2026
t was 9 a.m. on a Thursday, and Martin Picard was watching his blood flow from an IV in his arm through a hole in the wall. He was sitting on a twin bed in a claustrophobic chamber less than a shoulder’s width from a stainless steel sink and porcelain toilet. Every hour over 24 hours, including while he slept, a nurse channeled blood from his arm to a research team next door; at each time point, if he was awake, he also provided a saliva sample and filled out a survey about his mood.
As with any article written by a female, no information is communicated in the first three paragraphs—the primary need is for a little story so you can identify properly with whomever the story is about (or cultivate an appropriate aversion, if it’s about somebody like Donald Trump or Elon Musk). Stick with it, though; eventually she’ll get around to the point.