Marking of Time

Happy afternoon with a Heat Index hovering around 101°f, I see my purple haired neighbor walking her dog outside the window. It’s a cotton ball cloud kinda day, with a dry stifling heat you often see anywhere but here. Sitting on the other side of the apartment in the relative shade I peck away at the keys just to kill time. I’m never sure if I’m going to publish any of these stories. I have hundreds of them half-finished or sitting somewhere in a lost file, that will more than likely get deleted into the ethos when I’m gone. (When the MS 365 bill stops getting paid).
 
So with my usual wry wit I sit here killing time doing what I do best…bullshitting. But my AI editor tells me I have promise, along with the ten million others it writes papers for. So the question has to be, where is the soul? Is it in the content you pulled from days, months, decades of living? Or does it come from the moral code implanted somewhere in our past? Convenience it seems has given way to laziness and impatience. I mean even now I find myself growing impatient with todays “modern tech”. Shredding passwords and the endless suggestions AI pours into my feeds.
 
But I have to remember this is not a perfect world. But it is the imperfection and finality of it all that makes it special. So I sit in front of the monitor casually looking out the window observing the slightest breeze. So I’m reminded that this too shall pass, and that memories are but a mile marker. To the wonderful things we create out of nothing for the marking of time.