It’s too busy. Everyone is see-through. The world is upside down and I’m clinging to a highlighter and my script fit to send a yoga pants clad soccer mom on a rampage. “WHY DO YOU NEED ALL THIS SHIT?!?”
All that I need, ma’am, is a swift, debilitating kick to my cerebellum.
Copilot. My extraordinary shit-handling mechanisms handle the shit tossed at me from all the directions but my battery drains because this ship was built for humans built type PHQ794g and I am a mere model PHA24. (Person human aged 24.) my coworkers luckily were built with the right coping mechanisms.
A little maintenance, and for the most part they’re good to go.
How’d they let me out of the damn factory?
Now I’m in the robot hospital built for humans type PHQ794g again but here’s my sorry PHA24 ass begging for help with tubes sticking out every which way.
Please move this tick/tick/squish monitor I have to pee.
I don’t recognize those numbers. I wish they were all around a 20 BMI. Oh, that’s not how blood pressure works? Are you sure lower isn’t better? What if I just died? Wouldn’t that be grand?!
So I’ll just pick at my nuts and my bolts until they can’t find replacement parts anymore and then maybe I can rest in peace.