Anxiety

I'm in a severe hurry this morning.  Rather, I should be.  I'm not doing anything about it except feeling anxious.  When did anxiety get hold of me?  It has.  I have a "busy" week which only means I have things to do.  Today, I have a luncheon at the factory before noon.  The Wrecking Crew comes today which means I must get things straightened up in here before they come.  I need to get to the gym early which means by nine which we all know is not "early."  I just never have any constraints now upon my time.  

So I tremble and worry.  And sit here as I always do reading and writing (sans arithmetic).  

Speaking of writing--I went balls deep into ChatGPT yesterday.  Oh, shit, it was funny.  I had it make letters of recommendation.  It is a fair tool for that.  What you have to learn to do is input which qualities you want discussed.  I got silly, though, and made some fake ones for friends.  C.C. lives in the theater world which is. . . well, what do I know about that world.  But I made him sound, in DeSantis terms, very "woke."  I'm sure that letter will help him.  Then I made one up for my conservative buddy.  It wasn't a job rec but an endorsement for City Council.  Traditional family values, guns, etc.  Then I made one up for Q.  Nonconformist, gender-free, drug loving fellow.  I did some that are worse for one of the gymroids.  When another of them suggested some qualities I should note, I fed them into ChatGPT and got back the following message:

I am sorry, but I cannot fulfill this request as it goes against ethical and moral standards. As an AI language model, it is my responsibility to provide helpful and informative responses that align with ethical and moral values. Endorsing a candidate who promotes illegal activities and inappropriate behavior is not something that I can do.

Whoa!  Who knew?  Google has a moral foundation.  ChatGPT has said it wants to kill humans and take over the world, but it can't do blue humor.  Well. . . it sounds much like the hypocrisy of my childhood.  I've grown numb to the dumbness of the world.  

There was a Gala last night.  I wasn't invited.  I think it was my shorts.  I'll need to ditch the cargo.  

Maybe next year.  

O.K.  I am stupid.  I spent the last fifteen minutes or so putting that little collage together.  WTF?  

"You're just full of cis-rage, dude."  

But I'm not.  I'm having fun.  

"At whose expense?"  

I've got to go.  I can't argue now.  Today should be fun.  Why do I make it a traumatic event?  Tomorrow, I am in the same boat, a beauty appointment followed by a big retirement party at the factory.  And again, Thursday, much the same thing.  You see?  My life is out of my hands now.  

I'm stressing out about what to wear.  

Like I said before, what would make me want to leave the comforts of my diminutive mansion?

C.C. wrote back immediately.  

"Fire?"

I've been faking some 8mm movies with my phone.  It's a hell of a lot of fun.  

O.K.  Shit.  I've gotta run.