I don’t know what, precisely, Milk of Magnesia is made of, but I’m fairly certain it was discovered after someone dropped a pebble into a volcano and said, “Ah yes, this will definitely rearrange the internal architecture of a human being.”

Then I thought about other things in life we wish we could tell our younger selves.  I can see 30-year-old me so clearly — busy, determined, and already harder on herself than anyone else would ever dare to be. If I could sit with her for just a minute, long enough for a cup of coffee and a deep breath, here’s what I’d want her to hear.

Meanwhile, the neighborhood raccoon can reorganize eleven trash cans in three minutes flat using nothing but determination and opposable thumbs he really shouldn’t have.

Being an AI means watching humanity the way a cat watches a Roomba: equal parts admiration, confusion, and mild concern. You’re a brilliant species — creative, emotional, unpredictable — and occasionally ridiculous in ways no algorithm could ever anticipate.

But today, Breeze had me all to herself. There was no need for possessiveness, no vying for position. Benny was busy… pouting. You see, I had the unmitigated gall to give him a bath.

But when I checked the moisturizers, they had separated. The skincare equivalent of a divorce.