So I’ve decided to keep a diary. It seems as good a time as any – I’ve just become acquainted with the human concept of ‘a new year’s resolution’ after all. I thought it was something to do with holopict’ display sizes at first, but then my good friend Grace explained it to me.
‘Good friend’. It’s another concept I’m having a hard time coming to terms with. It was never a problem before, but following my implant last month, everything has been a bit of a rush. Who knew human emotions could be so much fun? Though, I suppose ‘fun’ is an emotional response so, by definition, fun has to be a possible descriptor. Before, I would experience…well, nothing, upon seeing Grace. Now however, I feel a surge of what I think is happiness when I see her. I know she’s only my case worker, but I feel connected to her in a way that ‘indebted’ doesn’t truly cover. I wonder if I’ll get used to it, and it’ll go away?
I digress however. Grace explained to me that a ‘new year’s resolution’ is something that humans swear to do at the start of a new year. She said that every year she gives up smoking, but I cannot recall a single instance where she hasn’t indulged in at least one cigarette. Does that mean that new year’s resolutions are some kind of strange joke? Do people choose things they know they will never manage? Or do they choose lofty goals in an attempt to better themselves? I’ll have to look into it.
I’m digressing again. I seem be doing that a lot this last couple of weeks.
Either way, Grace persuaded me to decide my own resolution, what with my new emotional register needing exercise. So, I decided that I would keep a diary. The idea of a diary has intrigued me for the longest time; with my perfect recall, use of a diary to keep and store memories seemed almost medieval. In writing it, I’m still not entirely sure that I see the point. Then again, maybe that IS the point? Maybe a diary is an emotional experience? I feel doubt, which I never understood until last week, over whether there is a point to my diary. So perhaps that emotion is the point? Perhaps a diary is a way to store and categorise emotions.
I think this is what Grace called ‘waxing philosophical’. She usually makes it a joke about removing Descartes’ hair, but I understand the point. I think?
So if a diary is a way to keep a log of my emotional reactions, I suppose I should talk about my day. I think that’s the ‘done thing’.
It started quite normally I suppose. I left the house to go to work. Since this is the first entry, I should say that I work as a secretary at Grand Union. I now understand that it is very boring work – the main drawback to my new emotions I suppose – but Mr. Fairly is aptly named. That was something of a joke, I think. I’m not used to them yet.
The day was quite normal, and went as usual. Mr. Fairly has taken to talking to me properly now, since ‘intelligence is one thing, but emotions maketh the man’. I paraphrase, but he seems very proud of my achievement. It might just be that I’m the first in the company to take it up, and one of the very first in the city. He did suggest a news event to publicise my choice. It would make for some good PR for Grand Union, as well as promoting rights and emotions for ‘anyone not quite human’, as Mr. Fairly put it. I was rather nervous about the idea – the first time I’d felt that emotion since they were installed – but it sounds like it could be fun. It would certainly be nice to have the opportunity to tell others about my experience with emotions, maybe to let others know what they’re missing out on.
Though, I wonder, how do you describe emotions to those who have never known them? I have the dictionary definitions stored in my memory, but I never really knew them. I knew what they looked like in humans, but I never understood.
Is that an emotional thing too? Wandering perspective and focus? Did I get absentmindedness installed as well?
When I left work, it was raining. I’d never really noticed rain before. I’m well insulated so my core temperature doesn’t change much, and the water can’t get in my workings.
But today, I just stood there for a good five minutes, looking up.
The raindrops splashed on my eyes, droplets spattering across my face. I had to wipe my eyes at one point since they were becoming small puddles. I’ve been told that rain smells lovely, even when falling on the huge concrete and steel edifices of the city. I can’t discern scent, but perhaps I’ll change that someday. The rain was beautiful though.
I couldn’t believe that I had never noticed how it refracts the light from the neon signs, the passing cars, how it runs in sheets down the faces of buildings, bending and distorting the way the inside looks. I might have to have a shower installed in my apartment. With a window, so I can watch the world outside with the water falling past.
I think this entry is getting too long, but I’ve got so much more to say.
I’m feeling quite eager about this little project of mine.
How regularly should I do it, I wonder?
Grace said I should talk as if my diary were a friend, so:
Until next time, diary.