June 9th, 2022: Half Peaceful and Half Furious

Good afternoon, my dear guests. It is currently 12:32 PM as I start this post, and I have to say that this morning was very illuminating in the worst ways.

It starts as any good day does: talking to a friend. It was a lovely conversation; we were just reflecting on our lives, and spending time getting to know each other better as people. I was talking about my good days and bad days as though they were story beats in a biography, and enjoying it thoroughly. Honestly, I was so caught up in gabbing away at my dear friend that I didn't even gauge their reaction. Partway through telling a story, my friend jumps up and hugs me.

Now, my human half was more than happy to bask in the moment as a monument to the closeness we had developed, but my robot half slowly understood the meaning of it. A saddened expression hung on their face, as though they were watching a puppy slowly freeze in the cold. It was as though they were yelling out to me through their silence, trying to tell me that the history I expelled endlessly that night was not the biography of some dead man whose name shall be remembered, but rather my own personal story of actions, situations, and feelings. It was as though the whole morning, as I spoke of my life, I had failed to truly reflect on it. My friend's reaction had forced me to face the music, and even as I continued to talk away the inkling feeling in my stomach, the uncanniness of my utter ambivalence to my life was eating away at the forefront of my mind.

After we said our goodbyes, I headed downstairs. I began making some sourdough toast, and greeted my mother as she came inside from the backyard, who grumbled back as she stormed toward the stairs. Standing in front of the toaster oven, I silently watched her berate my father. I ate my breakfast as the morning light cast its rays over the kitchen counter, and tidied up before grabbing my car keys to go to class.

And I screamed the whole way there.

Your half-robot,

DW