Do Robots Eat Yogurt?

I lost my keyboard months ago. It is attached to the screen of my computer but it seemed out of my grasp, it was too far away, distance just got in the way. I couldn’t see the letter keys through my tears and I couldn’t find the words to string together. I was playing scrabble against myself. Only keeping score because that is what we’re conditioned to do, that’s what the rules say to do. I have sat down to write, even stood up, and yet nothing. I have all the dates in my notes app, all these pictures on my camera roll, all these bookmarks in books that I have flagged for when I finally have the courage to sit, try, and write again.

I ate expired yogurt last night, I was done following the rules. I am over trying to play by rules, there are just too many. I forget what it was like to spell my words wrong. My computer spells the word “correctly” before I can even read it. What if I wanted my piece to be messy? Maybe my misspelled words could be an idosincracsy, correction: idiosyncrasy, of mine. Maybe that is how I could be identified through my writing. Making me special, different, unique…memorable? NOPE! That’s coloring outside the lines. That’s not following the rules.

Well I don’t want to follow the rules, I don’t want to be a robot. I don’t want to be understood by code but rather by coders, by humans, by artists. I desire to be an ungraphable statistic. Routine but never predictable. Categorically undefined. 

When I was at camp as a child I used to get confused with which corner the stamp was meant to go when mailing a letter. Sometimes I wonder if I put a stamp on the top left corner and the return address on the top right, would it still get where I address it? If it is a human sorting the mail, I have faith the letter would make it. But I don’t believe a robot would let my letter pass on to the next destination. I don’t think the robot would understand. Robots don’t eat expired yogurt.

With Love,

Casey