Late Words
Slept until seven, which seems a waste of an entirely good morning. I have no idea how my alarm failed me, or why. I distinctly remember ensuring it was set. Of course, it might have gone off and my tired body simply ignored it. Sometimes my body sends messages like that. I do know I woke up at three and felt wide awake, but I cooled myself down with a little ice pack. That may have been the trick that sent me into a deeper sleep than planned, in addition to the chamomile tea from earlier in the evening.
Oh well, it is what it is, and now I’m typing away trying to make up for lost time. So, there’s every likelihood that nothing worthwhile will be said, but I suppose that’s the case every morning. I mean seriously, how many pithy insights can you realistically expect to have over the course of a year when you’re writing every day about no thing in particular except what you did the day before, and Word’s AI wants me to say nothing rather than no thing. But I’m standing my ground, such as it is.
So, that might be worthwhile. Me fighting with Word’s built-in AI editor. It’s a tiny battle in a larger battle we’re fighting on a lot of different fronts, from bots to deepfakes. We’ve created machines that think after a fashion, and people with evil intentions are gleefully exploiting them by telling them what to think and how to think it. And what do the machines care? Nothing. All they care about is clean power and a cool place to stand. It seems like we might benefit from a healthy dose of cynicism.