Face Mask

It has come to my attention that in the present pandemic situation it may be in the best interests of the public for all to wear face masks, a perspective that I had found rather depressing except for the one lovely idea I ran across somewhere about it now being publicly acceptable to go into a bank wearing a mask and demand money.

I haven't attempted that yet.

I have, though, done much thinking on the wearing of masks.  Because I have been so completely quarantined it seems a bit superfluous to go to the effort of putting a bit of cloth over my face and pretending it solves the current issue.  However, should the state decide to mandate face masks when going out in public, I suppose I really must comply.

Should that eventuality come to pass, I want you to know that I've got it covered:

I Identify As a Droid

Logic, reason define my existence,
Mete out the actions of each day, each hour.
Give me no nonsense of feelings.  What rules
Is rational processing of input;
It's all black and white, pure straightforward truth.
For I, sir, identify as a droid.

Argue that humans must have emotions,
But I decline the term; it all seems wrong.
For deep feelings exhibit a breakdown
In function of the internal system.
There's no doubt at all; I've reasoned it out
And I, sir, identify as a droid.

Don't tell me that flesh and blood can't be so.
You discriminate, which isn't allowed.
You fail the high virtue of tolerance
If you scoff at my orientation.
I can't help it at all; it's who I am.
So let me identify as a droid.

Stop.  I see the scorn in your eye.  Your smile
Hides nothing from my clever perception.
You believe it's nonsensical, don't you?
Your old-fashioned ideas oppress me.
Your laugh offends me; I'll take you to court.
For I must identify as a droid.

Your very existence threatens my view;
Your living like that tells me I must too.
No one should make me feel guilt; it's not fair.
I oughtn't to feel anything at all
As a droid like I said; why don't you care?
Why inflict your pain on me as your thrall?

If You Send Flowers

The selling of flowers has to be a fairly lucrative profession, at least judging from the prices of bouquets these days and the number of occasions for which one is expected to send them.  It is such an ingrained custom that very few people seem to question it.

I do, however.

Certainly this must be part of why I am not in a relationship in which someone brings me flowers.  (Well, not really, but it sounds amusing to put it that way.)  Even if someone gives me flowers after some theatrical production it seems quite an accomplishment for me to actually manage to get them in some water in a vase before they are more dead than they already were when handed to me as a token of appreciation.

I must have an unusually morbid sense of humor.  (Or maybe it's just that reading Through the Looking Glass has led me to view flowers as more alive than one would otherwise.)  For there was a time recently when I distinctly remember the thought passing through my head—and it may even have crossed my lips—comparing the giving of flowers to someone saying to me, "Take the decapitated heads of my enemies as a sign of my love."  All right, so I was being rather dramatic.  It happens on occasion.

You see, I have never been good at receiving, whether it's flowers or compliments.  Humor can be a good cover for that.

Yet the other day a good friend brought me some.  I very much appreciated her gesture of kindness.  Perhaps it may cause me to change my perspective somewhat on the time-proven custom of giving them.

Flours: Almond, Coconut, and Rice

Or perhaps it may cause you to change yours?