From the purple moleskine:
Chaos.
That's what life feels like right now. Just incoherent chaos.
We've been bouncing from one crisis to another. Knightmare. Schrödinger. And now this new epidemic. Even our solutions are erratic, like we're throwing things at the wall to see what sticks. The big red button in that eleventh room. The path towards the dark empty space where the mad AI might be. Like whoever is writing this story has no idea what the hell they're doing.
But, no, WE'RE the ones who have no idea what the hell we're doing. There is no one writing this story. Or if there is, it's the same AI that is trying to destroy our world.
It isn't so much that we've been kept busy this whole time. We haven't. But it's still just too much. Too much to think about, too much that we will never be able to fix.
Well, I suppose the end of the world was never going to be easy, was it?
And the worst part is, I get the feeling that our one friend from the real world, the REAL real world, is hiding something. Something big. He's scared, as scared as we are, but why? He should be above it all, yet he's every bit as scared as us.
It isn't an act, I'm pretty sure of that. No, he isn't just pretending to care, for our benefit. Something is going to happen to his world, if our world ends. Or at least . . . I don't know. I don't know what else it could be. Our supposedly simulated world is somehow vitally important to his world, that's all I know.
Well, at least my own powers are not critical to the upcoming mission, the mission to meet our creator. Maybe I shouldn't be quite so glad about that. Perhaps that means I'm a coward. But it has meant that, for the first time in what feels like a long time, I get to be close to Armo.
He's been working on his powers, too. Astrid and Shade and Malik, the trio I've started subconsciously thinking of as "the smart ones," wanted to study him, see where his unexpected power boost came from, or at least how to replicate it. But Armo shut that down, REAL quick. He has absolutely zero interest in being studied.
Still, he's been trying to get control on his own. He's been using glasses of Coca-Cola, of all things, trying to get them cold without freezing them solid. He shattered one glass, and the soda inside formed an almost artistic half-shattering half-splashing shape as it froze.
I haven't told him that he reminds me of the polar bear in those old Coca-Cola commercials. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate the comparison.
I feel like I'm wasting too much time, just watching my boyfriend shatter glasses and grumble in frustration at every tenth glass of not merely cold but frozen solid Coca-Cola. But it's moments like this, not moments of overwhelming grandeur or fast-paced action, that make life worth living. That justify our fateful decision not to pull the plug on the world. Small things, small moments, that somehow aren't small at all.
Happiness. Love.
In the end, that's really what we're fighting for, isn't it?
