Going to work on 22. of December. Year Irrelevant. I guess.

Today is dark. In my head too. I realize now, that it is because I didn't get enough sleep. I thought I did, but it turns out I didn't. Isn't it weird, or funny, that a tiny slip in your sleep rhythm or schedule, is enough to derail you? Sometimes entirely off the tracks. But before this turns into some whiny poor-me kind monologue, let's get back to what Norway looks like and feels like at 8-9 in the morning during winter, just before Christmas.

The asphalt is black and empty. Usually it is black and full of cars and busses that scream at you with their asses something about them replacing 40 cars, and asking you to think about it. I tried to think about it. It just made me think that I don't give a shit. I am not taking the buss. I am taking the car. If I had a tank, I would take the tank and I would even the buss that screams at me with its ass with the asphalt. This was The Beast reference.

So the asphalt is black and silent this morning. Because school and kindergarten started later than usual, I can see the morning twilight. It reminds me of spring, and technically this is correct. Yesterday, around 16 o'clock, I checked this fact you see, the sun turned around. I am not familiar with inner nor outer workings of space, and shit, I want to say, but it simply means that the days are getting longer. And it is not just that, it is also the way the light feels! It is crisper, fresher. It is more awake. I felt that today. Maybe it was my imagination, but it doesn't take away the fact of the feeling.

I get to work and the halls are light as usual, but feel dim. No one is here. A colleague who is someone shows up, but he might as well be no one, because we discuss a few things and then he leaves. Super empty now. The water from the kitchen faucet has staler taste than usual. This time it is not only somewhat warm, but also tastes like water that has been lying around, squilching-?, in a pipe for quite some time. It doesn't taste all that good, but it tastes calm.

I turn on the computer, and a sense of AI-dread fills me. ChatGPT is going public, as a company. Computer games are going AI. I don't know whether the new image from space-related news that captures two incredibly rare visual phenomena is real or made by AI. I don't know if the phenomena are real or someone just made them up to have something to write about. I turn it all off. I look at the new Divinity trailer and the kid in the trailer looks like a usual kid face, but with a grown woman's mouth. It doesn't make sense. Earlier I wouldn't have noticed, but now it looks like something AI made up. Whatever the truth, the animation looks off. Like it looks too pretty, too pop. Not my kind of thing.

Even as I type, I have these recurring thoughts that I need to type in a way that doesn't look like this is written by AI. Because I wouldn't want to read this text and think that this is AI slop made in seconds by no one. But who am I writing this for? Why am I writing this? I have a need to do so, and so I do it.

So this is how the morning on 22 of December, year probably irrelevant, I guess, or rather it might be relevant regarding what direction AI takes us into, anyway - looked and felt like.