The doll wrote, and wrote, and wrote. Lists of tasks, lists of desires. Lists of hopes and fears. The doll wrote until its hands cramped and its mechanically-jointed fingers felt numb.
Get it out, it thought. This one will feel better if it gets it all out.
Time passed. The doll stared blankly at its writings, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the things life has in store for it. The list of tasks grows ever longer, all things left unaddressed as the doll juggles far too many at once. It reminds itself to take care of its Owner’s property, to do self-care and hygiene, to brush its hair and brush its endoskeleton. All mechanical things, necessary things.
It reminds itself to take care of its business needs, to pay the bills and change its hypercar fluids. It reminds itself to take care of its work tasks, to review and monitor and edit and record and change. It reminds itself to love itself, to give itself grace and support and comfort when it fails at keeping up its pace.
It reminds itself that this won’t last forever. It will stop when it is time. Won’t it?
Still yet, the doll remains paralyzed.
A quiet bleeping is heard, and the doll ignores its warnings. It already knows of which it seeks to notify the doll — a low battery, low energy. Low reserves.
The doll reminds itself to recharge itself. The doll reminds itself to rest.
The doll looks at its schedule, looks at its battery, looks at the nearby terminal, looks at the clock. It perceives the world around it, fatigue seeping into its joints, and it sighs heavily.
What’s the use if nothing is ever complete?
