I’m writing a blog post today—a “formal” one, not merely sharing audio and embedding video, which is what I’ve done in the previous few—not because I have anything in particular to say*, but because I decided to bring my little laptop computer along with me yesterday.  I felt that I was neglecting it, and it was probably getting lonely and sad and rather depressed, like its owner.  Then again, if I were your owner, you probably would be depressed, no matter what type of mechanism you might be, and no matter whether or how often I used you.

Of course, I know that the computer does not experience such emotions; it doesn’t experience any true emotions, though I suppose one could make the argument that its automatic functions, the ones that it does all the time—such as recommending that you install updates and its tendency to go into sleep mode when left idle—might be in some ways analogous to the basic emotions and drives of so-called higher life forms.

Anyway, I’ve done a lot of things on this computer and especially on its nearly-identical predecessors, including writing quite a few stories and some books and the like.  It’s a shame to leave it completely fallow while I’m alive (Once I’m not alive, there won’t be much I can do for it or to it, one way or the other—that’s the way that whole “not being alive” thing works).

I’m weird that way; I tend to feel a serious loyalty not merely to people, but to inanimate objects that I know don’t have any actual reciprocal loyalty inherent in them**.  People are, to be honest, less reliable than things like computers, and they have their own agendas, anyway, so it’s not as though they need (or want) my loyalty, unless they’re people who want to use me for their own benefit, in which case, screw them.

That reminds me a bit of the old “riddle of steel” that ran through the movie Conan the Barbarian, and which I think was reasonably profound for such a movie.  In the beginning of the film, we see very young Conan with his father, who is telling him what turns out to be the first part of the riddle of steel, which is that in this life, there is no living being—men, gods, what have you—that you can trust.  But that you can trust steel.  I suppose you can also rust steel, but even though it can rust, that’s a slow, predictable process, and it can be staved off if you care for the steel appropriately.

Then, of course, near the end of the movie, Thulsa Doom reveals to Conan the other half of the riddle of steel, telling him that steel is not strong, flesh is stronger.  Only living beings have drive and will and the capacity to achieve things like revenge or religion or things like that.  It’s an interesting contrast, and like I said, it’s surprisingly deep for a sword and sorcery movie.

The sequel was nothing like as good.

Anyway, that’s part of the thinking process, or something like it, that leads me to feel literal loyalty and sorrow for inanimate objects that are mine—though it seems a bit unreasonable to call a computer an inanimate object, considering that it can do many extremely sophisticated and complex things, some of them without direct human intervention.

I remember when I was little that I felt something like a real, personal, almost familial attachment to some of my toys and stuffed animals—particularly Kermit the Frog*** now that I think about it—and if I dropped them or played with them roughly, I felt bad and would even apologize.  Again, I never actually thought they had feelings or thoughts or anything, but then again, I often can’t grasp other people’s feelings or thoughts, so it makes as much intuitive sense to assume them in stuffed animals as it does with humans.

I certainly don’t have any good, intuitive sense of what goes on in the heads of humans, though I often cannot help feeling their emotions and so on, when they are nearby.  And I try to discern their patterns and their meanings through various informal algorithms, and of course by paying attention to their literal words and actions.  I find this often gives me as good a result as those of the more “normal” people around me.

People don’t seem to do a very good job of reading or understanding each other, frankly, regardless of their supposed intuitive ability to understand social cues and mores and to be able to express and receive affection.  Well, okay, that latter one is something other people are definitely much better at than I am.  I have almost no comfort level with showing or receiving affection, even with people I know well, even with people I truly, deeply love.  It makes me feel very tense, which doesn’t help, and it certainly goes a long way toward explaining why I’m alone.

By the way, I still haven’t set up any health insurance.  I haven’t been able to bring myself to call either of the two brokers for whom I have contact information.  It’s quite troubling, at some level—it’s weird not to be able to get oneself to do something so mundane.  Then again, it was never my idea to get insurance, and I don’t particularly feel that I deserve to receive health care or that I want to take care of my own health.  But that strong, uncomfortable, unpleasant resistance is nevertheless rather strange.

Oh, well.  Who knows what I’ll do?  I don’t.  I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to need health insurance, anyway.  I don’t find any joy or happiness in being alive, and I haven’t done so for quite a long time.  It’s merely the automatic functions that keep me in motion; there’s no anima, no joy, no goal of any kind.  There is certainly no meaning.

Well, my train should be coming soon.  I’ll embed the “video” of yesterday’s audio here below, for those of you who want to experience it.  I don’t really remember what I talked about, so if anyone listens, do please feel free to let me know.  And try to have a good day, if you can.

*The things I do have to say I feel that I’ve said ad nauseam nearly every day, and they haven’t appeared to do anything at all other than to make other people feel depressed along with me, rather than to garner for me any help or relief or anything like that.

**Though there are other things, such as vehicles and other practical items, toward which I feel less loyalty and affection than other people seem to feel.  For instance, I couldn’t care less about the cosmetic appearance of any vehicle I own (not that I currently own any), or whether it’s any kind of status symbol or anything.  I can admire some kinds of vehicles, such as sports cars and so on, but if I owned one, anything but basic maintenance would be entirely neglected, and it wouldn’t really bother me.  Likewise for musical instruments:  as long as they perform their basic functions, I cannot care about their appearance or any special bells and whistles—not that I am any good at playing bells or whistles.

***But come on, who wouldn’t feel loyalty to Kermit?  He’s a righteous dude.