My Life As An Adult Robot

Lately, I run on automatic. I am shampoo directions: Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I am a parrot. OK, I got it. Please, can I have a cracker now? It’s twelve. I am my graphic arts ruler, transparent. Can you see through me? Can you measure my breath in picas and points? I intern. 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Galley letters. Copying. Entering information. Repeat. My body walks, speaks, says “hey, what’s up?” I listen in class. 6 p.m. to 9:45 p.m. I turn my head, raise my hand, say something not witty. I’m trying too hard. I’m distracted. I almost cry behind my glasses. I give up. I’m quiet and don’t talk to anyone. This is a first.  Repeat. I work. 10 a.m. to whenever. Study. Read Eggers or Burroughs or someone from the list. Repeat. Home. Sometime around 10:30 p.m. or 5 p.m. TV. Shower. Computer. Book. Toothbrush. Bed. Repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat.
Lately, I run on automatic.

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto. I love you.

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