Automaton

I feel like an automaton. I am all repetition, programming.

I feel like I exist in a collapsing box where the sides close in a few inches at a time. Eventually, the box will snap shut and I will be trapped, compressed into a dense pinpoint of matter, a singularity.

Yesterday I saw twin babies with mohawk haircuts and I couldn't decide if this was kind of cool or totally weird. M votes for "cool" but I'm still on the proverbial fence.

I have made far too many people angry in the last week but (as always) this is unintentional.

I work hard to avoid human pettiness, but this keeps me on the outside of things, always. I exist only on the periphery.

I cannot remember the last time I made a loaf of bread.


Reading : How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents

Watching: I Sell The Dead

Feeling: Ennui