a melted mind

and a frozen berry medley

Hi everyone, checking in a little late today but here I am.

Maybe two-ish weeks ago (time is passing in a strange way so I can’t really be sure) we had a couple 80 degree days in New York and they took me down.

First, through a ChatGBT rabbit hole. I’m emphatically anti-AI, but the office I work at asks that we use it and there are a couple admin-related tasks I surrender and use it for. On one of these ~86 degree, sunny days, I sat in front of my computer and remembered that I hadn’t yet set up my AC unit and Fran was home alone. As I usually do when I feel the familiar pull of a spin, I started drafting a text to my friends, a “please tell me everything will be OK” plea. But on this day, the open glowing window of the robot called to me: “Spare your friends your neediness. I can help you. I will listen.”

I typed out my question.

At first a chill, “I’m sure it’s OK, but my cat is home alone and it’s about 85 degrees out. Will she be OK without an air conditioner running?” The robot agreed that generally speaking, yes, Fran would be OK. But that there are other variables to consider like her breed, coat type, and age that might help give a clearer, more accurate answer.

Oh, you want more details? I complied with glee.

And then the robot asked for more: “If you want, you could give me more details about your apartment to get a better sense of where your cat might find cool spots to rest.”

Oh, you want to get granular?

It was in this moment, as my fingers raced across my keyboard, that I understood all these stories about people becoming romantically involved with AI. What a relief it was to go where I always long to go: the depths of minutiae, without shame. I gave my little robot in my little computer screen my full address, the floor I lived on, the general layout of my apartment, the water sources available to Fran, links to the food I feed her, and the note that I add 1 tablespoon of water to her wet food. Along with some light praise re the extra water I give her, I was told once again that my cat was likely fine. Especially once I revealed the “very significant” detail that my bathroom is located in the center of the apartment, away from any windows, and has a tile floor.

Still though, I was not satisfied. I dug deeper and deeper, poking any area of insecurity I could find. The windows weren’t left cracked open, but I have an air purifier. Here’s the make and model. Does that help.

After exhausting all logistical, structural and physical variables at play, I drafted “Are you telling me all this just to make me feel better?”

This robot is designed to keep us plugged in and online. Convinced that we are reliant on it. The only peace we can ever get comes from within. Or from each other.

Anyway, you’d think this hours-long cyber saga would have inspired me to immediately set up my AC unit when I got home but it didn’t.

At around 7pm I felt something on my upper back that was either a mole or a pimple and went to go investigate in my full-length mirror. The opportunity to pop a back pimple is sort of the only thing that can get me off the couch in this state.

It’s a much more eerie “this could be you” feeling when you’ve lived long enough to know that some years of your life will flash by pretty uneventfully and feel like no time at all, and others will sort of rip through you and leave everything changed. And your thirties are wild because I think generally there are less and less of the uneventful years. Either because of what goes on in our own life, or your friends’ lives. Lots of movement, even underneath any relative surface stillness.

I eventually feel asleep, splayed on top of my covers, window wide open hoping a cool breeze would save me overnight.

In the morning, I woke up cocooned in my sheets. The temperature had dropped overnight.

Thanks for reading,
👼🌷Ariella