Grace was right. I stopped my attempt to recreate my state of distraction on Tuesday and, on Thursday, I accidentally spent two hours engrossed in some kind of shopping channel. I’m not even entirely sure why. I was skipping across the channels to see if anything ‘jumped out’ at me, and came to channel 217. When I landed on it, they were trying to sell some holopict frames – the kind that hang on the wall and just flick through a series of pictures. They were made up to look like old photoframes rather than just the modern display diodes, and I took quite a fancy to them. I bought two and they arrived yesterday. They came with a decent selection of pictures built in – at the moment, they’re rolling through a series of pictures of deep space. They’re quite beautiful.
But there I go again. After ordering the frames, I carried on watching the channel for nearly two hours. For no real reason that I can discern. Nothing else after the frames really interested me, but I was drawn into the continuing sales. It was an incredibly strange experience. I had no idea why I was watching, and yet, I did. It was only afterwards that I took note of my internal clock and realised how long I had been watching. This odd sense of distractedness is very strange, and I’m not sure if I’m glad that it wasn’t a one-time event or not. On the one hand it is a very human trait, which probably means that the emotional implant is working even better than expected. On the other hand, it also could be very inconvenient, and could damage my work habits. I spoke to Grace about this concern, and she said that it’s a very common thing among my compatriots who have had the implant. At first I thought she meant the distractedness, but she explained that she meant a fear of what emotions might do.
Since we’ve never dealt with them, learning to handle them is more of a challenge than for a human who has had them since birth. Because of this, Grace says, a lot of us get worried about our newfound emotions ruining our lives, or changing how our lives work, or changing us. I suppose that’s a silly thing to worry about. Having emotions would change us – surely that’s the entire point. We become that much closer to the people who created us, and that much more like the people around us. I think that’s a good thing, but I’ll have to wait until I’ve had the ’plant for longer before I decide.
Either way, after my two hours of distracted shopping, I came to the assorted sport channels. I couldn’t see the appeal of the first few that I flicked through – seven different games involving balls of varying shape and construction. None of them were all that interesting to me, though a lot of humans seem to love them wholeheartedly. After those channels however, I discovered one devoted to Winter sports, and among those was skiing, which took my attention more readily.
I’m not sure why, but the idea of hurtling down a mountain at high speeds, swerving left and right at a whim, appeals to me greatly. Of course, there’s no snow anywhere within easy travelling distance of November, but I’m sure there must be an indoor skiing slope somewhere in the taller sections of the city. I’m planning to look into it this coming week and to see if Grace would be interested in skiing. I might invite Joseph, or maybe even the rest of the office. I haven’t yet decided. Its odd – skiing seems like an entirely solitary experience, since you control yourself and yourself alone. You can have no effect on the ground beneath you – you are subject to the whims of the slope, and have to make do with it. However, it also seems like something that would be far more enjoyable with friends to share it with. I suppose that skiing alone in a mountain range must be a wonderful experience – the frames came with some holopicts of the Himalayas, and they’re beautiful. Being surrounded by that beauty and majesty with only yourself and your thoughts. I imagine it must be amazing. Of course, it might also be terrifying – I’ve yet to be truly alone since installation, so I don’t know how I’d react to being that isolated. Would I enjoy the peace, the quiet? Would I be scared, frightened that something might happen and nobody would ever know? I can’t truly die unless by sudden and very traumatic damage to my power supplies and processing units that would prevent a wireless backup. So how would I fare if I became trapped? Frozen in place, as my power gradually ran low, knowing that there would be a copy of me waiting for a new body? It’s not death, not truly, but would I be scared? Sad?
I think I would.
Maybe I shouldn’t go skiing in the Himalayas. But if there’s a dry slope in high-town, I think it could be fun. It might be nice to have an office outing. Especially one that Mr Fairly doesn’t feel obligated to pay for.
Yes. I think I’ll look into it.