The true and the ugly

“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” I had to assess the situation. Although, this assessing doesn’t help I suspect. I thought everyone had three or four stories churning about their skulls at any one moment. It turns out, after conducting a short informal survey among the humans in close proximity, they don’t.
“What were you expecting to happen?”
“I don’t know, it seemed fun, I’m just having fun. I thought that was clear?”
“No, it wasn’t to him.” I had just finished an impromptu wrestling match with a guy who took my bar stool. I won. “How was he to know that it was your seat?”
“My vest is on the hook in front of it.”
“Now you’re being a belligerent asshole.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Now I really knew it was me. Maybe I wasn’t having fun. Well, at least the front of me was having fun. On the back there remained a heavy load.

I went home and read the girl’s last note because it’s a good piece of writing and handwritten and honest – I keep it pinned to my wall as a reminder of the work I need to do. It says in paraphrase that I am responsible for all my failures. She took her moment of departure to leave me with that thought. Essentially it means; it’s you, not me. It means; you are crazy. I thought of what happens to bodies when they connect. I thought of the fluids and chemicals shifting and changing the dynamic shape of people. I think of those girls who kind of come along with me, mixed in my blood by serendipitous design. And I thought of the unruly and sometimes confusing nature of my profession. Then I set to work attempting to foster love between machines. They needed the right words and we were getting closer to the electronic heart.