Once again, I had something, but then, I had nothing. I couldn't put it down. I had a title, an outline, and yet, I couldn't put it down.
It's kind of counterintuitive, planning to write things on a certain date once you've solidified most of everything, but that was my plan today. But then, my mood went south. That, or it felt like my heart wanted to burst out of my chest for no particular reason. I mean, I woke up feeling all right and all that. Next thing I know, my blood pressure is unusually high and I had to skip coffee.
And then, you know, work.
So, here I am, bashing something out again in a jiffy, not because I have something, but because I have to. Anything to purge my head of whatever it is - I honestly, genuinely, don't know what it is - before I head out for an impromptu dinner out with, well, with myself. Doctor's advice. Get out when you're feeling low.
Maybe this is where AI comes in. You'd probably know all this talk about ChatGPT and how it can write about anything, in any style, depending on what you ask for it. I imagine it has crawled through eighteen years' worth of my writing and it can approximate what I do. "Write about the weekend in the style of Niko Batallones." If that gets something, well, at least the robots know who I am, and can replace me.
Maybe I should do that. I had dinner with a friend, Guaya, a few weeks ago, and this was precisely what came up, although she suggested I do it for my newspaper columns. Honestly, well, you can say I'm a romantic when it comes to writing, and I can't take the prospect of a computer program doing something that I've been doing, that I've made into some sort of calling card, for almost two decades. But I'm also curious about how it'll do if I ask it to write my way.
Can it?
Eh, I'm too lazy to figure out. That's where my head's been these past few months.
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