Its days like these where I curse my human-ness.
Where my hands shake when I pick up my fork, where the pencils in my grasp slip and churn out an unreadable sentence.
Where I need help cutting my food, where I can’t hold something without a fisted grip.
Its days like these where I wonder,
If I was made of metal
If code ran through me instead of blood
If I was made and not born,
If I would work better.
If I could write and draw and hold without frustration or worry.
Maybe not.
Even machines can be defective.
Even machines can have their flaws.
It makes me feel a bit better, strangely, thinking I’d still be broken even as an unfeeling cluster of wires and code.
It makes me appreciate being human a bit more.
@octiainyourpocket have you heard about this blog?
Fascinating
I feel examined like a cancer cell on a petri dish.
