At Least In

Of course, I know my age. But there are moments when I can push it back into the inner recesses of reality, and despite the immobility of creaking joints, I still feel capable.

Until I am stymied by the fast pace of the seemingly daily updates currently demanded by my computer gurus. I have been forced to leapfrog from 17.1 to 17.1.1 and then 17.1.1.2within recent weeks.

I am warned about security (a realistic fear) so I obey,

Yet when I do, immediately I feel the ravages of age. Far more than when I look into the mirror, or encounter an icy curb.

I become intimidated. Yet I obey, lest I be punished,

And yes, I admit there is definitely ego involved. After a lifetime of scribbling my words, I have grown to like them. I have never resisted editing, but I loathe AI finishing my thoughts before my fingers hit the keyboard,

I wasn’t aware this intrusive ability (after the last of several updates) could be adjusted. I was too involved with finding a missing ms that I had forgotten to add to icloud. It is akin to being corrected in a classroom.

When my four children were young, there were moments when I felt overwhelmed. Yet never to the degree that the rapid escalation of the internet world has recently inflicted on my emotional equilibrium.

I try never to be rude or abrupt. Yet my daily communication with the robot is causing ruptures in my normally calm facade. I become angry unnecessarily when my train of thought suddenly is interrupted by a alien.

I am challenged, and yet determined. I have refused the invitation to dictate my thoughts, correct my meaning, and change my spelling,

Of course, the robot knows my age, and probably my weight, but it still hasn’t penetrated my thoughts, or my dreams. I refuse to relinquish the ability to use the robot rather than have the robot use me,

And I pray that doesn’t happen at least in my lifetime.