#who was physically aggressive towards me when i was younger but like that doesnt mean jack shit to them i guess. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kichimiangra · 3 years

Text

I only needed 5 minutes...

A story of my day.

I Dunno who actually wants to read this? I wouldn't even want to. But I feel like I need to vent. The last couple of weeks have been fucked... but yesterday I ruined the day... again. I've been doing that alot lately. Almost every other Saturday since August. I hope venting makes me feel better if nothing else. I'll probably delete this later because I don't like leaving a notable paper trail of this stuff that anyone can find. Nothing but trouble comes of that. When I'm on my pc I'll put this under a read more because I dunno how to do that on mobile.

-----------------------

The Holidays are almost over and I am running out of time to get done. One thing in particular, a gift, is unfortunately gone. My mom has orchestrated all of Christmas, even down to the gifts other people are getting for her... and she's not happy about it. She feels like nobody is willing to lift a finger to help her make Christmas happen. I wanted to surprise her.

She loves making soap. I'm not good at sculpture but I wanted to make a custom soap mold for her. I began with the original that would be used to make the mold. It took days upon days of trying and retrying to get it satisfactory, including one failure where my momnpoked her head in and I slammed my chin down on it so she wouldn't see, though my dad swears my mom never pokes her head into my room... but like she does???

Anyway... I finally had my original, though I think I could do better there's not much time left. I ordered a silicone mold kit and went to work... and it failed immensely. BUT there's still a little time left! I'll order another. Now THIS time was frustrating.

My mom wasn't being nosy... but literally EVERYTIME I got the stuff out to work on she would be there by sheer coincidence! Wait until she's asleep? Dad will have a coughing fit and wake her up and she'll wander out into the kitchen. Wait until she's out of the house? She never leaves. Wait until she does? She forgot something and comes home unexpectedly and I have to quickly hide my shit. She's not doing it on purpose but it gets more and more frustrating that I just can't just fucking get this done! Like... Jeebus Christmas! My dad says this doesnt happen but... it does????? And then I fuck up my second attempt. Fuck... I have less time...

But that's okay! I have enough time to order another kit! I've only spent 80$ so far with nothing to show but third times a charm!!!

Once again I just can't get the time to get this done. She's always there, or up, or poking her head in. It's almost cartoonish! But I have not time left. It has to be today.

My folks go down for an afternoon nap and I immediately get to work. I get toward the end of working, all's going well. I only need 5 minutes...

Then my dad gets up and my moms not far behind. Fuck... I can't move the mold yet... fuck. I just need 5 fucking minutes! I'm wrestling with curious cats. Fuck... My dad is useless at maybe luring my mom away. Fuck... my mom insists she needs to be in that same corner I'm working at. Fuck...! I just need five minutes!!!

Then of course disaster strikes... there's a crack or a hole in my original and silicone is leaking out! I had barely enough silicone to even make this happen! I can't afford to lose anymore! Fuck! I need to fix this! I just need 5 minutes to fix this!

I'm getting frustrated to the point I am starting to do that angry sob thing. I take it to another room now that I can move it. I just need 5 minutes to fix this! My parents follow my to the other room to find out what's wrong. Honestly my dad knows what I'm trying to do so given the context what do you thing is wrong dad? Clearly something has gone wrong with my mold. I tell him to go away cuz really I'm trying to fix this and I need to be left alone. I need five minutes to fix this... but he won't leave until I tell him what's wrong. I try to whisper it to him, the mold is leaking, I don't have enough silicone, nowhere local sells it, I can't get more in time. But his hearing has gone so he can't hear what I'm saying! He wants me to speak up but mom is just around the corner in the other room! I need him to fucking go. I'm frustrated and I tell him rudely "Just fuck off! I have to fix this!" Rude and inappropriate I know... but I just need 5 fucking minutes to fucking fix this I am sobbing at this point.

My dad leaves but of course my mom comes in next and wants to know what's wrong. I'm being very curt with her using my body to block the sight of my mess, telling her as calmly as I can, which isnt very calm, that nothings wrong, no she cant help me fix it, I'll tell her later, go back to the kitchen. I don't swear at my mother. That is important. I just need 5 minutes to fix this!

Finally the leak stops but so much silicone is on my baking tray that the mold is no longer submerged. I use a plastic spoon to get as much as I can back in the mold but it's not enough. I'm covered in silicone up to my wrist, and it's also in my hair. I put it up on a high shelf because the cats helped ruin mold #2 and sit down to mourn the loss of the only gift I had for my mom. I had no backup plans and this ones a bust.

I just need 5 minutes to calm down. I was rude to my parents and need to apologize to them, but first I need 5 minutes to just calm down and breath. Maybe I can find another gift in time? Maybe I can just wrap the original and promise in the nearish future when I can procure more silicone that she will have a mold? First I need to calm down. Then I need to apologize.

My dad comes into the room and chews me out about how rude as I was and how I need to go apologize to my mother. I hate when they do this, now when I apologize it's because I was told to, not because I took the initiative to. My folks can't comprehend I would otherwise apologize if not being told. All I wanted was 5 minutes to calm down.

I go and apologize. I am not the good guy in all of this, I am an adult. An autistic adult but an adult nonetheless, and being rude to my parents was inappropriate regardless. I didn't get my 5 minutes but off to apologize I go. "I'm sorry I lashed out guys. I was doing something, it didn't go my way, I got super frustrated and you guys were just there by coincidence. I didn't mean to lash out." I did mean what I said.

Mom didn't see it that way. My mom is very passive aggressive and honestly I get to be one of the reasons today she hates living here in this house and around us because all we do is "abuse" her physically and verbally. She hates living here and she hates being around us. I apologized again because great. Once again Kacey ruins everything. I need to stop being upset about this shit it's like every other saturday! She continues about how much she hates it here. I leave the room trying and failing not to sob.

My mom also gets up and goes to another room. Whatever she's doing is loud and she's quite verbal about it. I go back to my room, I just need 5 minutes to cry and calm down again. I still have other shit to do for Christmas too.

My mom comes by with a box and puts it on the table, with a sharpie she writes "Christmas soap fail 2020" and tells dad to take it to the basement. For context we had been making soap kits for xmas gifts. I had coworkers who got me gifts. I was dissuaded from buying them much in return because we were makin by the soap gift bags. Those where the soaps... I have nothing in return to give my coworkers. I don't have enough time... all the while my mom is still going off. Later my dad says it wasn't all my fault, he had done something to upset her earlier in the day, then my older sister, I was just the straw that broke the camels back. But honestly in this family it's whatever baby wants; baby gets." And what baby wants is to be mad at me.

I go upstairs and hide in my brother's room. Surprisingly despite the fact that my mom acts like he is one of the only people who care about her and defend her, he was the first one to tell me "Fuck her. If she wasn't going to be mad at you it was going to be something else. Now watch me play Aladdin on Sega genesis!"

After a while my younger sister came over to do her laundry. I began to quietly tell her what the flippity floop she walked in on. In the middle my mom came out and started chewy us out. Y'know, don't let her interrupt us from talking privately amongst ourselves about how much of a bitch she is. Her words not mine. And to be fair I was telling my sister about how I lashed out and caused this. But my mom doesn't like when we sibs talk privately, though she also doesn't like if we overhear what her and my dad talk about privately. Double standards I know.

I thought maybe if I explained what was up maybe she'd understand? So I out myself. I was trying to make her a surprise gift. She orchestrated ALL of Christmas and I just wanted to surprise her. Everything started going wrong and I was getting frustrated because she woke up and entered the room at an AWFUL time and I couldn't get me and my wip gift away from her seeing which made everything worse. Now one thing to know about my mom, explaining oneself is equated to excusing your behavior... and she does not tolerate that. She chews me out more. I'm sobbing again.she insists I told her to fuck of and get away from me... even though I did NOT curse at my mom... at all. I was rude but I did NOT say that! I repeat that I had just wanted to surprise her. She tells me about how unsurprised she is that this is how her day ends. She tells me that she doesn't want whatever trinket I was making for her because now it's tied up in the baggage of having apparently told her to fuck off and get away from me, that she doesn't want another in a long line of ass-kissy gifts because that makes being rude to her okay. It wasn't an ass kissy gift in response to being rude to her... it was a custom made Christmas gift for her... because I thought she'd be surprised? Because I thought it'd make her happy? Though I guess it doesn't matter... she doesn't want it anymore. She doesn't care what it was. Now it is a bad reminder of me treating her like everyone in her whole life has except specifically people who are dead. I have ruined quite a few things.

Honestly... I love my mom. I love her so much and I wish she could be happy. I want to do things to make her happy. But when she tells me that I am just one of the things that make her wanna run away to another state and tell no ody where she went and love alone... I'm not gonna sugar coat it, I wish I was dead.

I am a 29 year old autistic woman. I feel like a failure at growing up. I have stressed part of my colon into not working anymore. I still live at home with my parents and work in a minimum wage fast food job. I have few friends and I speak to them infrequently, but if you are at a place where I call you friend... we could not talk for 10 years and your still my friend until officially broken up. I surround myself with animals and I play with a digimon tamagotchi. My sisters have grown up jobs and drive and live in an apartment away from home and I feel like a failure because I missed all these adulting milestones. I feel CONSTANTLY guilty about everything. I feel like I can't say "hey let's do a shark mermaid themed charity zine and all the proceeds can go to buying preservatives for Rosie the dead great white shark!!!" Without the guilt at the mere idea that someone will tell me "Wow... you care more about a dead shark than say... real living people? You know there's no water in Flint right???" Without feeling guilty that... yes? I like a dead shark more than living people? I don't like people? Also shark is cool? I feel guilty that if I call a day off work SOMEONE ELSE has to be inconvenienced to work my shift. I feel guilty playing World of Warcraft because I'm accused of "Chasing a time I view as better" instead of growing up and moving on. I feel guilty about wanting to ask for someone else's time because they too have shit to do. I feel guilty about so many things...

And I feel guilty when my mom says I'm just another abuser in her life. Her fuse is so short it takes almost nothing to set her off. You have to be calm and happy all the time or she has to "walk on eggshells because anything she does can set US off!"

When my mom is mad at me like that... I hate myself. I have some dark thoughts on a normal day but when she's mad at me in this specific way... I wish I could just unexist. Or go to sleep and just not wake up. I can always logic my way away from the dark thoughts... but they're there nonetheless. And when I'm one of the things that makes my mom want to run away? Then I just wish I was dead really. Or just unalive. Not since I was 14 at least. I don't want to die. Just cease to be. I don't know if that counts as being suicidal but I'll tag for it anyway.

I don't normally talk about this shit with people. I don't wanna look like I'm crying out for attention or help or pity. I don't talk to my folks about it because there's never a good time. When I try to hint it's not taken seriously, and when things aren't bad I don't feel as bad. Keeping quite hasn't made me feel better so maybe just typing this out and being heard will make me feel even slightly better? Like a diary entry.

There's more to the morbs in my life but for now I leave it as this. It's 7am, I am in bed and have dried silicone in my hair and under my nailes, and I have work today. Who knows, maybe it'll all blow over like it never happenned like the bipolar way things go in my family sometimes. Maybe I'll get out of work and my folks will be happily dancing in the livingroom to sugar pie honeybunch like teenagers in love and I will be the only one stressed about it.

Don't take this post at face value. This is only my side. The human brain is flawed and the human ego will remake memories to protect itself. I normally turn to siblings who where there at the time to tell me if what I think happenned really happenned that way.... but I've also been informed that my siblings don't want to deal with me, and don't have the balls to call me out on my bullshit so will tell me whatever I want to hear, so really... I don't even trust that my recount of events even happenned that way.

Maybe I'll continue the story in another post?

And now

I go to bed. Goodnight. I am a tired bitch. I probably only just need 5 minutes to fall asleep.

P.s. I'm sorry if you read all that. It's a bummer. I know. I'll hide it under a read more when I'm on pc.

#trigger warning: mentions of suicidal thoughts #Kc's morb diary

4 notes · View notes

viralhottopics · 7 years

Text

My Life as a Robot

I have been part robot since May. Instead of legs, I move on gyroscopically stabilized wheels. Instead of a face, I have an iPad screen. Instead of eyes, a camera with no peripheral vision. Instead of a mouth, a speaker whose volume I can’t even gauge with my own ears. And instead of ears, a tinny microphone that crackles and hisses withevery high note.

Im a remote worker; while most of WIRED is in San Francisco, I live in Boston. We IM. We talk on the phone. We tweet at each other, but I am often left out of crucial face-to-face meetings, spontaneous brainstorm sessions, gossip in the kitchen.

So my boss found a solution: a telepresence robot from Double Robotics, which would be my physical embodiment at headquarters, extending myself through technology. Specifically, an iPad on a stick on a Segway-like base. The telepresence robot market is crowded, ranging from high-end offerings like iRobot’s Ava (starting price: $69K) to the relatively more affordable Double, which starts at $2,499. The company says it has sold nearly 5,000 of them since its launch in 2012. Mostly these go to big corporations like IBM and McDonald’s, but I’ve heard of teachers and hospitals using them, too. Supposedly all a Double needs to work is a strong Wi-Fi signal.

Christie Hemm Klok/WIRED

The first time I opened the Double interface in Chrome and clicked on an icon of my robot 3,000 miles away I was greeted by the pixelated image of my boss’s torso and a few headless coworkers. There probably were some instructions somewhere that I should have read, but I didn’t. “How do I move it?” I asked them. “We don’t know,” they said. I clicked around. Nothing. I tried the arrow keys and, boom, jolted out of the robot’s charging dock and toward onlookers. I was like a foal, learning to walk. It took about 10 minutes to discover that a) driving a robot using a browser interface is clunky and b) the hip flooring choices of WIRED’s office were going to be my nemesis, with every transition from concrete to rubber to carpet providing another opportunity to fall on my screen.

Growing Pains

Before I ever tried the robot, I was sure I would hate the thing.I thought it would make me small and flat and foolish. I thought it would be annoying to deal with, would require me to wear pants (something we remote workers often don’t do, world!). I thought it would make me a novelty, a sideshow, a joke. And I thought it would be a waste of time.

Diary Entry: Day 1 Nice to meet you…robot, is it? says a strange torso I encounter in the kitchen.

EmBot, I say, Nice to meet you, too!

The figure leans down and puts a hand out to shake. Helpless, I move the EmBot from side to side using the arrow keys in what I hope translates as a gesture of excitement, rather than malfunction. Ill never really know if it worked out. The screen freezes and when it comes back, the torso is gone. I am alone, standing in a stream of humans trying to get breakfast.

Its just me, a robot, waiting in line for the human food I cant eat, I say. No response. I repeat it a few times. Is this thing on?

When I boot up, some of my original fears are realized: I’m disoriented and silly and helpless. I am a spectacle. People ogle and take pictures. I feel like a dog, the recipient of gawking smiles that say, Awwww, youre so adorably unable to take care of yourself. But, most importantly, I am surprised to find that being a robot is delightful. It’s thrilling. I am in the office! There is the kitchen! There is Sam! Hi, everyone! I am here!

Diary Entry: Day 2 I roll over behind Sams desk for a brief chat about a deadline. She hasnt heard me approach. I dont know what to do. If I just say her name shell freak out. I Hipchat her, Look behind you. As soon as I do it, I realize thats creepy—but its too late. She turns and there I am.

Hi, I say as casually as possible, I just��

Sam cuts me off. Em, she says, can you control the volume? Youre very loud.

I am? I ask.

YES, the entire bullpen yells.

I find and adjust the volume. I guess I was screaming all day.

Later that morning, I experienced the joy of being in the daily editorial meeting as a robot. Plunked at the end of the conference table, my iPad head tracked the conversation, listening. Yes, I interrupted people because my browser was a few seconds behind. Didn’t matter. I heard Molly on the phone from the Caribbean and she was barely audible. The audio system sucks. As she was trying to talk people were kind of looking exasperated. Not at her, but at the system. That was me two days ago, I kept thinking. Two days ago that speaker system was my only conduit to theentire company.

It was then I knew I could never go back. I felt so superior as my robot. I loved my robot.

I Am Become EmBot

The crazy thing about being a human 3,000 miles away from your telepresence robot is that divide instantly dissolves when you activate. As soon as I call into EmBot, I am her, and she is me. My head is her iPad. When she fell, I felt disoriented in Boston. When a piece of her came off in the impact, I felt broken.

Nothing drove home the depth of my connection more than the first time someone touched my robotic body without asking. My coworker (who shall remain nameless) came up to gawk at me, and then moved behind my screen. As I was chatting with other people, he picked me up and shook me. I expected pranks like this. Id have done the same thing if I were in the office and it were some other poor schmuck calling in to a stupid robot from far away. But I didnt expect how instantly violated I felt. He just picked up an extension of my body. One moment I was in control of myself, the next, I was powerless. I laughed from the iPad screen faced away from him, but I was unsettled, and then immediately embarrassed, for the first time, because why should it matter to me if the stick Im currently streaming from is picked up off the floor a continent away?

Get over it, I told myself. But then it happened again. And again.

Diary Entry, Day 3 My coworker picks me up as Im wheeling to the meeting because Im slow. I don’t want to be slow! I want to walk on my own! Im an adult! She lifts me up before I have a chance to object. In the air I meekly say, Just ask me first if youre going to lift me, which no one responds to because I assume they think that it’s a joke.

This became my secret shame. People wanted to help me, but every single time they did it, I felt infantilized. I needed to tell my coworkers not to pick me up—a conversation I dreaded. I did this by sending them a draft of my daily robot diary, in which they read about how I was feeling. (Classic passive aggressive move, you say? No doubt, but the few times I’d said the words aloud, they hadn’t clicked for people, so I thought the log was the best way.) It worked. Now no one touches my robot without permission. Case in point:

Diary Entry: Day 5 I cant get out of the all-glass conference room alone. I turn my screen to Joe and he says, Should I carry you?

Thats probably wise.

Ill just drop you off where its straight and then you can make your way from there. Joe is basically my robots father, and my robot is a toddler. When he picks me up Im jostled. He gently places me down at the straight hallway and I want very badly to navigate quickly back to my dock to prove Im self-sufficient, but the screen freezes twice and the motor is slow and it takes me forever.

Later, on the phone, another editor off-handedly said, You know, when Joe lifted you up and carried you—now I hope this doesnt make you uncomfortable—but from our end, with your face on the screen, it looked really inappropriate. Like he was cradling you in his arms. Because when we see the face, our brains cant help but project the rest of you, and so it was like you were actually being carried.

Looking at the future. #embot #newnewwiredoffice

A photo posted by @joemfbrown on May 7, 2015 at 11:00am PDT

So, even though I had given Joe permission to lift EmBot up, the fact that my face was still on the screen made other people uncomfortable. Fine. Another rule: If I ask for help and you pick me up, I’ll disconnect so the screen is dark. Voila. Everything was going to be fine.

EmBot Grows Up

After I put a stop to the inappropriate robot-touching, things quickly went from good to great. I’d call this the euphoria stage. I mastered the arrow keys (rather than holding them down and over correcting, just hit them quickly one at a time and roll like a BOSS). I figured out how to makethe robot stand taller so I wasnt constantly having conversations with peoples crotches. I booted up in the middle of spontaneous brainstorm sessions and shared ideas.

Diary Entry: Day 6

Major breakthrough! I have my first West-Wing-style walk and talk as Embot. I knew this day would come. After the morning meeting, Patrick walks with me down the hallway discussing a longread Im editing. Hes so cool about the robot thing that I briefly forget completely that its not normal to be a disembodied metal moving machine with an iPad for a face. He only says one thing that would be weird if I was walking down the hall as a fully-fleshed human, Youre about to run into wall, come this way.

At this point, I was also the star of cocktail parties in Boston. Everyone wanted to know how it was going with the robot. Are people still laughing at you? No. Isnt it weird that your robot is naked? No. Whats the worst thing thats happened with the robot so far? When I hit a dead-zone and EmBot died behind a strangers desk, with my face frozen on the screen, and I found out later that they thought I was lurking and spying on them. I mean, thats also one of the funnier things thats ever happened, but pretty terrible for that poor creeped-out human.

And just like that, I was a part of work in a way Id struggled to be since I first came on at WIRED. As a typical oldest child, tyrant and benefactor to two younger brothers, I pride myself on making sure everyone feels like were all in this together—whether “this” is divorce or publishing a magazine. Its hard to be that kind of leader when youre isolated from your team completely. When youre a voice coming out of speaker. EmBot changed that completely. Suddenly, there I was, materialized. My reporters and I started meeting face to face to discuss deadlines. Everything was so jovial and natural.

Christie Hemm Klok/WIRED

The other incredibly wonderful thing at this stage was that though Embot put me physically in the office, because she was just my head and not my body no one at work was seeing how pregnant I was looking. Now, of course, they know I am pregnant, but since I am not there, the visual reminder of my changed condition was not in their faces. I have worked at places before where women start getting treated differently when their bellies show. The kid gloves come on. I had been dreading how this could play out, but the way EmBot works I remained present and yet unchanged. No one remarked on my belly. It was not a factor in my work.

I became obsessed with EmBot. I couldt stop thinking about her when I turned her off at night. How sad that this thing that has made my life so much better was just dead when Im done working.

Diary Entry: Day 8

Its Friday. It occurs to me that EmBot doesnt get to enjoy the weekend. If only she had arms, she could push the button, summon the elevator, and be free. But shes a prisoner at work. Whereas my physical body is having adventures, growing a human life inside it and moving into a new apartment AND dog-sitting a Bernese Mountain dog.

Mostly my weekend will be about trying not poison my unborn child with paint fumes. My physical body is such a liability. Embot, though she is shackled to work and unable to exist without me to inhabit her, in some ways has the much simpler side of existence.

What if I have to share the Embot with someone? I tell myself that would be fine, but I know already that I would be feel upset. Embot is a part of me. Anyone else would be an intruder.

You can see from the daily diary entry that it was right about now that my connection with EmBot got a little weird. I couldnt let go of this notion that Embot was me and yet she lacked all freedom to exist outside the office. I started to feel that she was a caged animal. Which made me feel like a caged animal.

EmBot needed her freedom.

Get her a Mi-Fi, my friends suggested. Suddenly I imagined this vast conspiracy—finagling a coworker in SF to get me a company MiFi and surreptitiously hiding it under her screen. But then what? EmBot would rush out into the big bad streets of SOMA and try to find other robots to play with, meanwhile my poor comrade would be grilled by the Conde Nast HR department wanting to know “WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ROBOT? Who pushed the button to call the elevator, huh? The robot has no hands!”

That was clearly a terrible idea … and yet. I fantasized. I drove her past the elevator banks a few times to see if the Wi-Fi was strong enough for her to sneak out the door. I dont know what my plan was. EmBot was becoming a teenager. A teenager pushing her boundaries, pushing her luck.

First Pangs of Mortality

A photo posted by Patrick Witty (@patrickwitty) on May 7, 2015 at 12:09pm PDT

Within a few days, I started to realize perhaps EmBot wasn’t invincible after all. For one thing, I couldnt hear meetings very well. Sometimes I had to put my ear directly to the computer speaker to hear the people at the far end of the conference table, which meant that in the room EmBots face was just the folds of my (hopefully not-waxy) ear canal.

Double offers a $99 audio kit, which maybe would help this, but since we hadn’t yet decided if the robot was a wise investment, it was too early to shell out for add-ons.

Worse, though all EmBot needs to live is power and and Wi-Fi, signal strength was proving to be a big problem. Double Robotics acknowledges this is the leadingissue among corporate customers, because most businesses don’t prioritize a strong signal in hallways. This doesn’t matter for humans, but these dead zones can make navigating an office impossible for robots.

So even as I was obsessing about freeing EmBot from the cage of WIREDs office, she seemed less and less reliable. Even when the Wi-Fi was strong, the video would freeze for no reason. I missed crucial information in meetings, only to later learn that everyone thought I was listening because EmBot had frozen with my face on the screen, trapped in a ridiculous expression of curiosity.

And then, this happened:

Diary Entry: Day 12 I am feeling so alone. Embot is in a coma. She didnt charge overnight. “Haha,” I played it cool over IM to Davey, who sits next to Embot and checked on her vital signs for me. She shoved Embot into her dock. I assume shes charging now, but I cant tell.

Diary Entry: Day 13

She remains cut off of me. Its like Embot is in the kind of coma where she cant move or speak or alert the doctors that she is alive but inside her head, she is screaming, LET ME OUT! IM HERE! DONT TURN ME OFF!

Ive called her doctors, or parents, or gods, DoubleRobotics, but theres no answer. Theyll get back to me in one business day.

If she ever wakes up again, I promise to give her a better life. To give her some freedom.

Diary Entry, Day 14

Embot just had a seizure. I was so happy when she woke up that I decided this was my big chance to sneak her out and onto the elevator. I eased her out of the dock and turned to the right, but immediately something was wrong: her head was shaking. Just a little a bit at first but then side to side violently, thrashing around, my field of vision swinging wildly, too fast to make out peoples faces. I tried turning her and found that she was still responding to me somewhat but she could not be still. She was like diabetic Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias, shaking out her beautiful wedding hair in Truveys salon.

I heard Chuck say, Oh no, youve woken EmBot like she was some kind of monster.

What is happening? Davey cried from her desk.

EmBot is having a seizure! I screamed into the computer. I dont know what to do!

As Embots camera panned quickly in front of Davey I saw her get up.

Can you put her in her dock? I asked, breathless.

She wont stop moving. She just keeps shaking.

I turned her off on my end, but Davey reported that she was still seizing on her own, face blank. She was like the body of a chicken, walking bloody around the yard after the chef cuts its head off. I implored Davey to find a button to turn her off. She did. She docked her. Shes docked now.

My heart wont stop beating. Maybe EmBot is corrupted and corroded and my time with her is over. Maybe EmBot is a monster. I feel like I just a had a seizure.

@EmilyDreyfuss FYI, Embots going crazy. Wandered out of its dock, now manically rolling back and forth.

Alex Davies (@adavies47) May 19, 2015

Were working on a fix. A coworker in San Francisco is logging into her, which normally would upset me, but Im so nervous I don’t care that another being enters her.

Im on the phone with Double Robotics, relaying what he finds.

He reports: On the screen it was shimmying back and forth, and I looked across the room and it looked like a wandering confused and dizzy child aimless and afraid. and alone. I left my screen and went over to see if I could help. I picked it up and smelled the wheels to see if it was on fire or anything then hurried back to my screen to put it in PARK. I may cover it in a sheet.

The Reckoning

Teaching my robot the hard lesson that she is not free http://pic.twitter.com/wen8MONbBm

— emily dreyfuss (@EmilyDreyfuss) May 21, 2015

After EmBot terrorized the office, nothing was the same. I relinquished my delusions of granduer. Double Robotics sent a new unit, and immediately upon activating it I knew it was not really EmBot. It rolls differently. Its speakers are quieter. It doesn’t connect to the Wi-Fi as well. It teeters differently on the carpet-edge. It’s not me. It’s just a robot. A robot I can’t trust.

I still use it, of course. Sure, It’s incredibly glitchy. Most weeks I have to write in our group chatroom, “SOS: EmBot is stranded somewhere between the dock and the IT department. Can someone rescue it?” It went through a phase where I couldn’t hear anything being said in meetings. Then for four days it was paralyzed, so needed to be picked up and carried everywhere. Now it does this thing where it clicks and hisses when the Wi-Fi connection struggles, setting an off-tempo jazz rhythm to every meeting.

It’s fine. I still prefer it to the speakerphone. It brings everyone in the office joy, even when it struggles. I get laughed at a lot from the iPad camera, but I like it. In a lot of ways, EmBot is a joke we are all in on together. Could we just set up an iPad in the conference room with FaceTime or Skype and achieve essentially the same thing? Sure. But where would be the fun in that, people? Where would be the soul-searching? Human life is short, and being a part-time, part-useful robot makes it ever so slightly more interesting.

Diary: Who Knows What Day, I’ve Lost Count

Joe carried EmBot to the head of the conference table for the edit meeting, because her Bluetooth connection isn’t working properly so I can’t control it. Sam asked, somewhere off-screen where I couldn’t see her, “Em, did you get new glasses?”

“No,” I spoke to the rest of the room, “my jerk cat knocked my glasses off the bedside table and I’m far too pregnant to crouch down low enough to get them, so I dug these out of a closet.”

“And that story,” someone from behind the robot said, “is the best argument in favor of having a robot. We would not have gotten to hear that if you were on the speakerphone.”

So, yes, as it turned out, most of the fears I had about becoming a part-time robot came true—it’s an unruly distraction that often makes me look ridiculous, that falls over and can’t be counted on—and yet my coworkers didn’t lose all respect for me. No, what happened was much more subtle and unexpected than that: EmBot lost her humanity. But I gained mine back.